Ethereal Desire
by Etherea
Summary: Draco is experiencing a rare magical phenomenon: he’s being ‘visited’ by his Other Part, but Animus Salutor means much more than that. Two sworn enemies are forced to acknowledge a truth too unbelievable, too absurd… and yet, too right. HD Slash!
1. Prologue

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** T – PG-13 (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable… I hope.) The rating will –most certainly- go up in later chapters.

**Disclaimer:** I certainly don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe. I humbly bow before the goddess who created it and marvel at her genius, hoping to not awake her wrath at my pitiable attempts to do her creation justice with my amateur stories. I do own the plot, though; but I hope it's pretty superfluous of me to say that I'm not making a Knut out of it. It's just a faithful fan's work anyway, born out of the mere respect and awe for the wonderful characters she has fashioned. So please, don't sue.

**Summary:** AU. Post-Hogwarts. Draco is experiencing a rare magical phenomenon: he's being 'visited' by his Other Part, but Animus Salutor means much more than that. His life in total shreds, how will he react to the unthinkable consequences? A battle of wills ensues: two sworn enemies being forced to discover and acknowledge a truth too unbelievable, too absurd… and yet, too _right_. H/G. Eventual H/D Slash.

**Author Note:** The ever-present Author Note and Warning of every H/D fanfic ever written… Yes, you got it: this is –or rather, will be- Slash. Don't like it, don't read; as simple as that. If you feel upset, uncomfortable, disturbed, shell-shocked, appalled, confused, outraged, or simply disgusted by this type of reading, then you have another reason to hit the "Back" button right now. If you still decide to carry on with your reading even knowing that this piece is not your cup of tea (or coffee, or whatever you prefer) then be absolutely certain that destructive or/and offensive flames won't be tolerated; you've been warned after all.

**A/N2:** So, this is my first attempt at a Slash Fic. The Harry and Draco pairing is very close to my heart –I just think they are simply adorable together- and although there are some fics out there that truly are masterpieces of the genre, I can only hope this one will come close to your expectations. So whatever your opinions, please let me know. I certainly would love to hear what you guys have to say!

**A/N3:** This story was posted nearly a year ago, but due to some inconveniences (namely FFnet deleting it), frustration got the best of me and I gave up on it. I hadn't thought about reposting until one of the readers sent me an email asking me about the story nearly two months ago. I understood then that there were people that actually liked this story and wanted me to continue, so I decided to give it a try. So here it is. I'll post one chapter a week to get you guys reacquainted with ED. Thanks to Amyfowl for her support, and to my sweet Beta Enchant for her persuasion.

Now, once again, on with it!

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Ethereal Desire

**Prologue**

His voice was merely a whisper, muffled in the darkness of his room. His moans escaped from his mouth of their own accord, making him shiver at the lust clearly embedded in the sinful sounds. He was getting there. He was close, _oh so close…_

He felt those hands touching him and caressing his skin with blatant audacity; not hesitating once in their shameless explorations. They knew their way around his body so well. Those lips devoured his mouth with the hunger of a starving beast, licking and teasing, asking more and more from him; wanting, demanding, needing…

His eyes were tightly closed. His hands clutched the silky sheets beneath his naked body in an unconscious attempt to feel in control of something, to get a hold of whatever little composure he had left in his rebellious being. He quivered and wriggled under the exquisite caresses, feeling the bolts of pleasure running through him like electricity. His breath came in ragged gasps.

_Gods, _he was close. He was _so _close…

He could not do anything but surrender; surrender to the will of those hands on his skin, of those lips that were all over him. He could _hear_ the moans inside his head, the whispers urging him to let go, to give into the pleasure of flesh and moistness and heat. His body arched into the brazen sensations. He gritted his teeth and his hold on the sheets became fiercer as he reached the pinnacle of his endurance.

His pulse rate rose to a feverish allegro, and he threw his head back as he felt the wave of ecstasy swell up inside of him like an untamed river, escalating from his toes and fingers, invading every muscle and sinew and bone in its obstinate way to his desperate core, washing away every thought, all sense of control; sending him over the edge as it drew from him the most fantastic noises, and finally blasting him into sweet oblivion, leaving behind an empty shell, shattered by excruciating pleasure and release.

He was gone, and he never wanted to return.

It took a long time before his soul came back to his body, and when his heartbeat and breathing became regular at last, he opened his eyes to the feared reality.

He was alone, very alone, in his darkened room. He wondered how many times he would wish otherwise. He knew better. He sat up in his bed and inspected his naked body, sweaty and stained as the result of such an enjoyable experience. He couldn't stop the wave of sorrow that washed over him, as it always did. Once more, he had hoped this time would be different; but no. He rummaged in his bedside table for his wand, and was about to mutter a cleaning spell when he decided differently. The sweat glistening on his skin and the well-known spots on his stomach and thighs, as well as the remaining tingling sensations that still made their way across his body, were the only tangible proof that it had ever happened, and for his sanity's sake he'd leave them there.

Suddenly he was very tired. He put away his wand and leaned back on the bed, fumbling for the covers and getting under them, willing his mind and heart to stop their pathetic attempts at self-pity. They wouldn't do him any good anyway, not now. He closed his eyes of fused silver for the second time that night, letting out a sigh of sheer resignation. Tomorrow would be a very tough day, and he needed all his wits and defense mechanisms working properly. His life was truly at stake, and he'd be damned if he was going to let these bothersome 'visits' get in the way of his much needed rest... much less his peace of mind.

He entrusted himself to Morpheus, and as he felt the soft arms of sleep lulling him away, he couldn't prevent –he really needed to believe that- the sad smile that crept its way to his lips. It seemed that for the very first time in his life, a Deity had heard his prayers and took him out of that sweet misery his waking reality had become...

Draco Malfoy finally fell into restless slumber.

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The black-haired man shivered and writhed in his sleep, letting out broken moans and cries, startling his companion, who lay naked beside him in bed. The redhead leaned over him, holding his shoulder and shaking him softly, trying to wake him from the seemingly hideous nightmare he was having.

"Harry… Harry, wake up!" she said worriedly. It wasn't the first time she had been awakened by her fiancé's cries in the middle of the night. She knew he had always had trouble sleeping -the Dark Lord's deeds were something she didn't think anyone would want to close their eyes to- but it scared her that, even now when Voldemort had been finally defeated, Harry kept on having these dreams; that he kept on waking up bathed in sweat and quivering profoundly, completely vulnerable and confused. She remembered too well the implications of those awakenings during the Second War, and she really didn't want to think of the implications they could have now, when the Wizarding World was supposedly out of danger.

She kept shaking him lightly –for she didn't want to get a violent reaction from him when he finally awoke-, calling his name softly, and trying to break the thread that kept him tied to the land of dreams. Finally, he opened his eyes and sat up, startled, gasping for air and looking around him in nervous confusion.

"What…" He then seemed to remember where he was, and who he was with. He turned towards the presence beside him and saw the worry in Ginny's eyes; her hand stroking softly up and down his back in reassurance.

"Bad dream?" she asked, trying to sound calm and collected. He looked her in the eyes, like trying to figure out in their depths what it was he was so distressed about; trying to remember, but failing miserably.

"I… I don't know…" He looked around the room. "It is so… foggy. It's just a blur…" He got up from the bed quickly, thankful for the boxer shorts he had on, and went to the bathroom. Ginny knew better than to go after him. He needed to get a hold of himself… alone. She didn't know if he really didn't remember his dreams, or if he just didn't want to tell her about them, but either way she knew he wanted his privacy. She believed that that was one of the reasons why she and Harry got along so well. They respected each other's boundaries, and only crossed them when allowed. She got up to pick up her clothes -which were scattered around the floor- and dressed. It was really late anyhow, and she didn't want another lecture from her mom about 'a woman's dignity'. She was finishing buttoning up her shirt when her lover came out of the bathroom.

"Are you leaving so soon?" His beautiful green eyes looked incredibly exposed without his glasses. She walked to where he was, placed her arms around his neck, and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss.

"It's really late, you know?" she said when she pulled back, and smiled. He looked at his feet, a little disturbed, then back at her.

"I'm sorry… about… about that," he said earnestly. "I didn't want to… I didn't mean to scare you." She put a reassuring hand on his cheek.

"I know, love. I worry about you; that's all. I just want those nightmares to stop," she said in a soft voice portraying all her caring and concern for him. He didn't want to cross her after that. He simply nodded his head and put his arms around her waist, bringing her close to him.

"Thanks for taking care of me." This time he smiled, and she felt something inside of her melt.

"Anytime, love. And I better go. Circe only knows what mom is going to say to me when I get home." She gave him a loud kiss on the lips, and he released her. He walked her to the apartment's door, grabbing her purse from the coffee table on his way. They stopped at the doorway and kissed once more.

"I love you," she said afterwards, cheerfully. He didn't know why he shuddered at those words, but he put the sentiment aside.

"I love you, too. I'll see you tomorrow." She gave a snort at his reply, which gained a sort of amused look from him. She just scowled at his reaction.

"As if! You will be busy as a bee tomorrow, what with Malfoy's hearing and everything. I know better than to get my hopes up!"

Ah… _that_. He really had forgotten about it… which made him rethink his amusement.

"Maybe you're right. I had forgotten all about that prick's hearing. What with the interrogations of the last Death Eaters and the stupid paperwork..."

"Yeah, yeah… I know how it goes." She smiled again. "Anyway, I certainly won't mind not being able to see you tomorrow if it's because you'll be too busy sending Malfoy to Azkaban." Harry frowned.

"I don't know about that, Ginny. We couldn't get any evidence of Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Cause. You very well know that after his father's imprisonment…"

"Malfoy went low-profile," she cut him off; "that there is no proof whatsoever that he took the Dark Mark and all that rubbish." She looked at him sternly. "Do you really believe that Malfoy readjusted his allegiances only because his _daddy_ got caught?" She snorted once more. "Come on, Harry. Don't be so naïve."

Harry knew he was walking on very thin ice with this subject. He knew what a delicate issue this was for his fiancé. After all, she went through her first year at Hogwarts at the mercy of Tom Riddle –Malfoy Senior's doing in the first place-; he was sure she wouldn't find peace of mind until she saw the whole Malfoy lineage behind bars. Sometimes it made him wonder how healthy her convictions were, but he really couldn't blame her. She was entitled to her anger, and the only thing he could do was to support her.

"I'm not naïve, Ginny. I'm just asking you to put things in perspective." He suddenly realized how _Hermionesque_ that sounded, but thought better than to grin. "I don't want to see you all worked up if things don't go the way you want."

She looked at him coldly, almost defiantly, but the look vanished immediately, gone as fast as it had come. Her face softened again to its usual state and she smiled with acquiescence, looking at the floor for the first time.

"I know… I'm sorry. I'm just nervous about it, that's all." She looked up at him, and he greeted her with one of his Golden Boy smiles, the type he knew she couldn't resist, and she giggled.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, love. You know I'm here for you." He put his hands to her cheeks and kissed her softly. "Well, off you go then. I certainly don't want to get another howler from Molly. _Ever_," he said gleefully, remembering the highly disturbing red envelope he had received a few months before his and Ginny's engagement. She understood completely.

"Yeah, you're right. Well, good night, love. Floo me tomorrow, ok?" He nodded and opened the door for her, giving her the purse. She blew him a kiss and left the flat, leaving Harry to stare at her retreating back, deep in thought.

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An hour or so had passed after Ginny had left his flat, and he still couldn't get to sleep.

He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of recent events. He and Ginny had gone out for dinner that Sunday evening. After that, they had come to his apartment –the only place they had to indulge in more intimate distractions- and made love. It was satisfying, as always; sweet and caring love-making. She knew what to do with her –he giggled- _hands_, and she did it wonderfully. Ginny really was a passionate girl. No, cross that out; y_oung woman_. She was twenty years old after all.

She was very beautiful. She had grown from that shy little girl he had known ten years ago into a very mature, very intelligent young witch. It certainly never crossed his mind he would end up being her fiancé; she was his best friend's little sister after all, and although he knew she had had a little crush on him back then -even more so after he saved her from Voldemort's claws- he never really thought he could like her that way. So he indulged in little affairs with other girls –nothing big or serious, really- like his fleeting fling with Cho Chang. Funny how Fate plays her cards, really. Whilst he kept busy trying to lose his virginity before he could get killed _and_ conspiring against the very 'man' who could accomplish such a task, Ginny remained in the shadows, waiting. Waiting for him to notice her. And notice her he did. In fact, by her seventh year, three quarters of the school had. He was just plain lucky –the very constant of his life- that she still wanted him.

So a little more than a year after her graduation –they had been dating for nine months then- when he had finally defeated the Dark Lord, and when he had gotten a nice job at the Ministry of Magic as an Auror, he had proposed to her. It was pretty obvious to say that the Weasleys were delighted. They truly loved him and considered him part of the family, which was certainly a break from all the people who got close to him out of sheer interest. And he really loved Ginny very, very much. They would be getting married in three months...

But still, there was something he couldn't put his finger on; something missing in their relationship. Something lacking in the way they kissed, in the way they looked at each other, even in the way they… well, it wasn't necessary to point that out as well.

He remembered the way he had shivered when she told him she loved him. He loved her back, he was certain about it. Then why had he reacted that way? Why did he feel threatened by her openness? Was he having cold feet about their upcoming marriage?

No, that was ridiculous. And it was ridiculous because he kind of knew what was going on.

And he certainly didn't want to discuss those dreams, or nightmares, or whatever -he wouldn't know what to call them, really- he had been having; not even to himself.

_Oh, shit! It's going to happen anyway, isn't it?_ he scowled to himself.

He always told the truth when he told Ginny that he didn't remember anything about them. He didn't know exactly what those dreams were about, but he knew how they made him feel.

And it was pretty distressing.

Not only because he was certain they weren't about _Ginny_.

He knew she thought the dreams were about the Dark Lord, about the horrible things they all had seen over the years during the Second War, which had mounted in viciousness and ferocity until the 'Grand Finale', the day of the Last Battle. The deaths, the rape sessions, the tortures… Merlin's teeth! How he wished it was that… simple, that manageable.

He could deal with the never-ending guilt and remorse over the ones fallen during those years. Those feelings were a part of him now. Ever since Cedric's death, his Godfather's, he couldn't help but think that there was something else he could have done which would have saved them. The Final Battle, where so many great witches and wizards were lost, was another test to his fortitude. How could he be happy about finally defeating Voldemort when the cost had been so high? All those souls weighed on his conscience, each and every one of them, and he had accepted that weight. It was his burden, and therefore, he could deal with it.

He just couldn't deal with something he didn't understand at all.

He fidgeted a little on his bed when a flash of the dream he had had that night crossed his mind.

He must have fallen asleep shortly after having sex with Ginny, which wasn't that unusual, really… being an Auror drained all his energies, even on Sundays. He didn't even know if he should call it a flash, because there were no images to recall; just feelings. He remembered warmth, so hot it burned him inside out, but not a hurtful burning, just… intense. He remembered a pulse, a heartbeat maybe, filling his ears with its steady crescendo, accompanied by moans that he wasn't sure were his own… or maybe they were, he wouldn't know. He remembered a tingling sensation on his skin, the type that reminded of recent touch, but who he had been touching -because somehow he knew he had been doing the touching- well, that part was veiled by mist. All he knew was he had touched something warm, and moist, and solid, and…

Gods, he _really_ didn't want to think about it.

And most –and worst- of all, he remembered pleasure; incredible, mind-blowing, delicious pleasure; the kind that made skin crawl with desire and want. Yes, that's what it always was. He remembered wanting, needing, _lusting_...

He remembered the feelings of it, as if he had been blindfolded in a wet dream. Because it _was_ a wet dream; the tumescent… certainty of it made it very awkward to wake up next to a very worried Ginny Weasley. That's why he had gone to the bathroom: to splash some cold water on his face and regroup

No, it hadn't been the first one he'd had.

And he hoped –oh _Gods,_ very much- it wasn't the last.

Because those dreams gave him something that –he was going to regret so much admitting this- he couldn't get from Ginny.

Those dreams, foggy and blurry and tremendously incoherent as they were, made him feel… complete.

And it wasn't because of the pleasure he got from them. It was because of the pleasure he knew he _gave_.

_Oh, Gods! _What was he to do? He couldn't keep up the charade of those dreams being 'Voldemort-related' to Ginny! That only accomplished getting her scared out of her wits! And how, dear Merlin, was he to tell her what exactly those dreams were, when he didn't even know himself? And how could he tell her the only thing he did know: that for almost three years now, he's been having these extremely erotic, highly satisfying -when not abruptly awakened- and completely unsettling dreams, and that somehow he knew the co-protagonist, the person with the leading role in all of them was a…a _man_?

He grabbed his head with both his hands, trying so hard to quiet his whirling thoughts. He couldn't think about it now. Better yet, he wouldn't think about it, ever! He had so much to lose over this, and he certainly wouldn't be _that_ stupid.

No, he wouldn't. He knew better.

And he was really tired.

So he pulled the covers over his nearly naked body, willing his head –and his heart- to silence, one more time. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, and he needed his head fresh for it –not only because he would be sitting as a witness and an Auror in one of the most famous hearings in Wizarding History yet- and he'd be damned if he was going to let these foolish dreams get in the way of his much needed rest, not to mention his peace of mind.

He closed his eyes for the second time that night. He just hoped sleep wouldn't take much longer to come. As his thoughts were being chased by slumber like a seeker on a broomstick chases a snitch, he couldn't prevent –he wouldn't start psychoanalyzing that as well- a sad smile sneaking onto his lips. It seemed that for the very first time in his life, he wasn't afraid of his dreams, but of the conflicting thoughts about them he had to face when he was awake...

Harry Potter was swept into a shallow, troubled sleep.

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TBC…


	2. Things Have Changed

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** T – PG-13 (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

**Disclaimer:** I certainly don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe. So please, don't sue.

**Author Note:** For the last time, a warning. This is a story with Slash content. Meaning: Male/Male relationships. If you got this far then you know what it means, therefore I'm supposing you're not feeling offended and are actually enjoying it!

And yes, you know how it goes:

_Roses are red, _

_Violets are blue. _

_Make a fanfic writer happy: _

_Just read and review!_

ºGrins sheepishlyº On with it!

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter One**

Things Have Changed

Draco Malfoy descended the white marble staircase that lead to the ground level of Snape Manor. It was quite early in the morning, but it wasn't surprising to find a dark clothed figure sitting on one of the luxurious armchairs facing the windows of the spacious parlour; a mess of parchments and documents scattered around, a cup of cold coffee forgotten on one of the side tables.

The night-haired man looked up at the sound of footsteps entering the room, and with a quizzical smile playing on his lips, he set aside the piece of parchment he was working on and greeted the young wizard that had just walked in.

"Well, Draco… it's a surprise to see you up so early this morning. Have a good night?" Severus Snape said; his velvety voice ringing with innuendo and his pale face showing an amused smirk. Draco just looked at him with annoyance and went to stand by the huge window. A happy autumn sun shone brightly in the sky and the birds were already singing their morning tunes.

"You could say that," he replied sardonically after a few seconds of quiet contemplation. "Although, what it has to do with you is clearly beyond me." He then turned to the older man; his arms crossed, and his face set in a sneer that didn't quite reach his eyes of fused silver.

Severus Snape filled the air with the sound of his clear, deep laughter. To a casual observer, it would have been quite the shock to see this rather obscure-looking man express his glee in such a genuine way; even more if they _had_ met Severus Snape at least once in their lives. But of course, a casual observer wouldn't have known much past appearances, or even remotely understand how close the two wizards really were.

"Believe me, boy. It _is_ my business when your enjoyment keeps me awake all night. Didn't that old fool Flitwick teach you any Silencing Charms?" The Potions Master chuckled in amusement, which did nothing to diminish Draco's annoyance.

"Like I would have thought of that! I was rather… occupied at the moment," Draco scowled, letting himself fall gracefully in the vacant chair placed next to the one taken by his godfather. "Besides, I was under the impression you'd actually enjoy it as well. I know all about your voyeuristic tendencies," he continued offhandedly as he took his wand out of his robe pocket, conjuring a cup of steaming coffee and heating up the one abandoned at Severus' side. Severus Snape gave him a reproving look for his comment, but to the older man's chagrin, it didn't accomplish anything on the arrogant boy. The pale professor shook his head in resignation and resumed his perusing of the document he had left unattended. Draco smiled conspiratorially and stared at Severus, who tried his best to remain unaffected. _I'm seriously losing my touch_, thought the dark-haired wizard.

"So…" the Potions Master said casually, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the parchment as if he were talking about some inconsequential subject such as the weather. "Did you have another Visit?"

At the sound of that word, Draco suddenly stopped on his way of bringing the cup to his parted lips; the hot contents almost spilling on his robe, his wicked smile practically forgotten, and his grey eyes widening in shock.

"How… how do you know about that?" he asked; fear clearly showing in his otherwise impassive features.

"Your mother told me some time ago." Severus looked up at him attentively, waiting for the younger man's response. As the shaken expression remained plastered on Draco's face, the Potions Master elaborated.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Draco. In fact, it's quite a special gift. You should embrace it, not fear it or condemn it." Severus Snape saw the anguished glint that flashed through his godson's eyes at his words, gone as fast as it had come. Draco placed the cup on the table, feeling a bit nauseous all of the sudden, and rested his arms on the chair.

"Is it? Mother told me the same thing, but somehow I can't bring myself to believe that. It's definitely more like a bloody curse to me."

Draco stared at a place beyond his godfather's shoulder, and the older man could see his young charge was lost in some secret reminiscence of his past. Severus inwardly cursed his lack of subtlety. He had managed to bring up not one, but _two_ very delicate subjects in less than ten seconds. _How in Merlin's name did I survive being a spy?_

Draco seemed to notice his godfather's hesitation, and he shook himself out of his reverie as his lips turned up in a sly smile. "Although I can't deny that they are quite satisfying." His mercury eyes regained their mischievous glint.

Severus grimaced, though his lips turned up as well. "Please, spare me the details. I have enough traumatizing experiences to last me a lifetime."

Draco sneered once again at the dry comment, but after a few seconds of unperturbed silence his face turned to a thoughtful expression. "What did Mother tell you?"

Although the blond wizard's face kept the impassive, almost stoical mask it was so famous for, Snape could see the veil of sadness that threatened to take over his godson's mercury eyes. He put the parchment aside once more; this time intending to leave it there in favour of the serious conversation he knew was bound to come. Merlin knew there were a lot of important issues to address.

"Not much really, just… enough." He looked at Draco openly, his jet-black eyes showing his concern and support for the blond. "She told me the Visits began shortly after you graduated, and that you had come to her for help. She told me you thought you were being _haunted_." The Potions Master couldn't help the laughter-like snort that came after those words. _Honestly, these youngsters nowadays…_

Draco opened and closed his mouth repeatedly in outrage, feeling completely embarrassed by his godfather's mockery and looking exactly like the spoiled brat he had been years ago, pouting over 'unfair' punishment. It actually made Severus smile to himself. Draco had grown into a very powerful, very confident young wizard. The three years he had spent on his own in Greece, making a living for himself for the first time in his life, seemed to have really helped him grow up in many ways, but it was comforting to realize some things never changed. _Old habits do die hard. I pity the soul that's bonded to you, my boy…_ he thought as he shook his head, amused, aware of the fiery darts being thrown his way by the young Slytherin, who had stood up and was now pacing his way to Hades' Underworld on the marble floor.

"What did you want me to think?" Draco asked when he could get past his initial indignation. "Animus Salutor is not something everybody talks about in common rooms and dinner parties, you know? How was I to know I was being visited by my bloody soul mate and not being set up for a horrid death at the hands of a person under an Invisibility Cloak or a Concealment Charm? It scared me out of my wits! You know what my activities were back then! You know how careful I had to be about everything! So having an invisible _visitor_ snogging me senseless wasn't what I would call very… er… pleasant!" Draco argued his case whilst Severus laughed at his hilarious attempts at self-defence.

"Yes, I honestly believe it must have been a terrifying experience getting off with a ghost," he drawled with a jovial glint in his ebony eyes. Draco, who was feeling like a six-year-old at the moment, couldn't help but notice how different his sulky godfather looked when he was relaxed like that. _He even looks handsome_, he thought; honest contentment replacing his aggravation. It seemed that after all those years of solitude, self-loathing, and guilt Severus Snape had finally found his well-deserved peace of mind. His godfather wasn't playing the role of a colourless pawn anymore; he was finally living the life he should have lived all along, and that liberty, that relief was clearly showing in his demeanour now. _Even in his face_, Draco mused, grateful.

He suddenly thought about the final year of the Dark War; how it had taken its toll on everyone in the Wizarding World –on some more than others- and how much everybody had had to give up for the greater good. Severus and Draco were no different. In fact, having to play both sides just made them even more exposed to the atrocities and crudeness of it all, for playing both sides meant they didn't have the consolation of confiding in anybody else but themselves or each other.

Draco shivered inwardly. He sincerely didn't know what would have happened to him if his godfather hadn't been a part of his life. After his 'beloved' father was sent to Azkaban to rot, he had to endure the worst times of his life. An epiphany was almost predestined to happen to him. Draco Lucius Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy name, who had carried himself as some kind of crowned prince and used to love denigrating and patronizing everyone around him, who had believed himself above everybody else only because of an ancient surname, who had thought he had it all just by having money and power and a reputation to be reckoned with, who had to be treated with the respect –not to mention the fear- his name evoked, had lost everything he had held dear the day his father was caught by Voldemort's side at the Ministry of Magic. He had lost everything he believed in, everything he had known. He had lost _himself_. And if it hadn't been for Severus Snape, he certainly didn't know what would have become of him.

"However, I do understand your point." Severus' smooth voice brought him back from his musings, and with a half-hearted scowl, Draco went to sit in his chair again, only just noticing that he had stood up sometime during his childish tantrum. Severus stared at Draco for a few seconds, as if mentally weighing the connotations of what he was about to say, his fingers stippled in front of him.

"What do you know about Animus Salutor?" At those words, Draco's eyebrows joined in a frown. He hadn't expected the question, and it left him a little disconcerted. He could see Severus had adopted what Draco jokingly called 'Classroom-Mode', and it meant that his godfather was expecting an honest, meaningful answer from him. The teasing had stopped, it seemed, so Draco thought about it for a while before finally speaking.

"Well, the information I've got came from what Mother told me and whatever I could find in a few books. It's really strange that there doesn't seem to be much about the phenomenon; even banned Dark Arts books don't describe it as thoroughly as I would have liked." Severus raised an eyebrow at the _faux_ _pas_, but the blond Slytherin just ignored the gesture, waving it away as he continued his little speech. "Nevertheless, all sources converge on it being a visitation from one's Other Part in spirit form, when physical connection is remote or non-existent. It's supposed to be a very exceptional experience, and it's born from the emotional need for any kind of contact between the two Parts, even when this raw need manifests only at a subconscious level..." Draco trailed off for a second or two, looking at his godfather intently as if waiting for his reassurance to continue. At the Potions Master's nod of approval, the younger wizard resumed.

"There are two defined _roles _-so to speak- in Animus Salutor. One Part acts as the Visitant; the other Part acts as the Host. The Visitant travels to wherever the Host is using his spiritual body, or soul, during sleep, following the psychic link between them. The Visitant is often the Part with greater magical awareness," at this, Draco scowled, sounding derisive, "or the person whose need is more repressed, and will only acknowledge the visits as very vivid dreams.

"The Host is the Part who is more conscious of his or her needs, and therefore, more receptive to both their Partner's needs and soul. They are the ones stuck with feeling invisible beings harassing them in the middle of the night. Anyway, the roles are not interchangeable, and the visits will only stop when the Parts recognize each other and consummate their union in a more… _tangible_ way," Draco finished, sinking deeper into the armchair and feeling utterly depressed all of the sudden.

"That was quite impressive. I never thought you knew so much about the more technical aspects of Animus Salutor," Severus Snape said, looking appreciatively at his young charge. "Although there are a few things I'm certain you don't know, and they are probably the most important characteristics of the phenomenon. However, we don't have the time to discuss them now, so we'll talk about it tonight. Right now, let's eat. I'm starving and I bet you are, as well." Severus Snape then snapped his fingers, and a house-elf wearing a pink apron over the piece of fabric it had for clothes appeared out of thin air, bowing low before its Master.

"What is Master wanting, Master Sir? Dixie is more than happy to help her Master, Sir." Dixie looked at Severus with her huge blue eyes, sighing and batting her eyelashes at him; a dreamy expression on her face. Draco regarded the house-elf with amusement, looking from the little creature to Severus and back to the elf again. He had been living in Severus' place for nearly a month now since his return from Greece, and he still found the issue of a house-elf in love with its Master quite funny.

"Thank you, Dixie. Would you be so kind and serve breakfast for us? It's almost eight thirty and we have to leave before ten for Mister Malfoy's hearing."

Dixie –literally_-_ jumped with merriment. "Of course, Master Sir! Dixie will serve breakfast in the dining room, Sir! Dixie prepared blueberry pancakes today; Master's favourites! Dixie is hoping Mister Malfoy and Master is going to like the foods, Sir!" Dixie looked at the blond wizard, who gave her a condescending smile –which she didn't recognize or simply ignored- and then back at the Potions Master. With a final batting of eyelashes, a loud pop sounded and the little creature disappeared, leaving an almost hysterical Draco Malfoy and a scolding Severus Snape in the sun-lighted parlour.

"Sweet Athena, that was bloody hilarious!" the blond Slytherin said; his clear, rich laughter filling the room with its sharp edge. "Yes, Master Sir! Of course, Master Sir! Dixie wants to have your child, Master Sir! If only Dixie was human!" Draco said in a high-pitched voice, trying to imitate Dixie's soprano but failing miserably. It didn't lessen his mirth, though –as if he would ever pass such an opportunity to make fun of Severus- and his godfather kept glaring at him with one of his most infamous looks; his jet-black eyes narrowed into mere slits. Draco, of course, ignored the silent threat, and kept laughing until his eyes stung with unshed tears; his silvery blond hair falling over his face.

"Seriously, Severus," Draco spoke in his best frivolous tone when he was able to breathe regularly again, "where did you get that elf? I have never heard of wizard-elf relationships. That's so low… even for your standards." He sneered as he smoothed the few blond locks that had strayed over his eyes. Severus snorted caustically.

"Kettle mocking pot," he snapped. "At least she's made of flesh and bones," Severus retorted with a pleased smile on his lips at the scowl on Draco's face.

"Touché," Draco stiffly admitted. "But still, the change in that elf is quite remarkable. I never thought she could be so devoted to her masters when I met her at Avery's place."

"Well, I guess knowing who her former masters were says a lot about her actual behaviour, don't you think? More to the point, she is just grateful I took her out of that despicable rat hole."

Draco could understand Severus' point. He had seen the elf a few times on his visits to the now-burning-in-Hell Death Eater's house –when Draco still escorted his father on business, that was- and the creature had always behaved exactly like his former house-elf Dobby did: neither glad nor comfortable to serve them. He couldn't blame her, really; he knew how Death Eaters treated 'inferior' beings, but of course, it wasn't like he was going to comment about it then. His godfather had told him that a little after the Final Battle, when the Order of the Phoenix and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were conducting the mandatory searches of known Death Eater's residences and properties, Severus had found poor Dixie in Avery Manor, wounded and chained to a dungeon wall. Apparently, she had been held captive there in case she would have thought about running to the Ministry with all of her masters' secrets during those hard war days; so it wasn't such a crazy idea to think that the house-elf had developed some kind of 'rescued-maiden' syndrome for his godfather.

"Overly grateful I would say…" Draco hadn't finished his amused reply when a melodious ring of bells ran through the room signalling that breakfast was served. Both men stood up and walked together to the luxurious dining room, which featured a beautifully carved mahogany table with matching chairs set with silver cutlery and fine china. A vase with freshly cut red roses and lilies sat in the centre of the flawless piece of furniture. Several dishes were filled with the aforementioned blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, muffins, toasts, and juicy fruit. Two steaming jugs let escape the delicious aromas of newly brewed coffee and tea, accompanied with smaller ones containing honey and cream.

"Well, it seems that having a house-elf in love with you has its advantages," Draco said as he took his seat and began filling his plate. After a few minutes, he spoke again; his voice wrapped in melancholy. "I had forgotten what it was to be served like a king. In Greece I had to do everything for myself. These three weeks are seriously spoiling me rotten." The blond reached for the coffee jug, pouring some of the dark liquid into his cup along with some honey and cream, and smelling the rich mixture first, he took a sip and marvelled at the exquisite blend of flavours engulfing his mouth. _So much better than conjured coffee…_

The Potions Master, who was currently tucking eagerly into his food, stopped briefly to regard his godson with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I know these past three years have been difficult for you, Draco, but believe me when I say that everything is going to change. Today you're going to regain everything that was taken from you." Severus Snape spoke smoothly and calmly, meaning every single word he said.

"Bollocks!" Draco suddenly snapped; his eyes narrowed and the coffee-bliss forgotten. "You and I both know what that sodding hearing is about, so please spare me the pep talk. The Ministry of Magic is just using the inheritance issue as an excuse to interrogate me. Salazar only knows what they're going to come up with to send me to Azkaban, just like my father."

The Potions Master held his hands in front of him, apparently calm and collected, as he surveyed the blond with stern eyes. "You _wouldn't_ be attending Wizengamot hearings if you had followed my advice and told Dumbledore of your true allegiances during the Dark War."

"What?" Draco certainly couldn't believe his ears. "And subdue myself to the stupid remarks and comments of Potter and the other fools at the Order of the Phoenix? Are you out of your wits or is it just senility finally catching up with you? You know what would have happened if they had known I was working as a spy! They would have doubted and questioned every bloody decision or move I made, and I certainly was _not_ going to deal with that; not then, not ever. If I decided to become a spy it was to feed _you_ with every piece of intelligence I could gather about Voldemort's plans, to help _you_ come out alive of that stupid position you had put yourself into, not to please Albus Dumbledore, or sodding Potter for that matter."

Severus stared at him with a caustic glare. His hands were tightly clasped under his chin, and his eyes had turned an icy black. _How can this child be so stubborn?_

"I never said anything about telling the whole Order about your collaboration. I just said it would have been in your best interest if at _least_ Dumbledore knew about it as well. He would have believed in your intentions. But of course, you had to be the proud, snotty child you have always been and leave everybody to their own conjectures. To make matters worse, you disappear without a trace precisely when everything was at its turning point for three years, and you only returned after you learned about your mother's death, when there are inheritance issues to attend. Now tell me, doesn't that add up to _their_ case instead of yours?"

Draco stared at Severus with wide grey eyes, completely speechless; the silver fork remaining obstinately intact in his tight grip. Severus, regretting his curse of a temper, noted the impact his words had caused on his young charge, and let out a tired sigh of surrender, his anger leaving him with the exhalation.

"I'm not saying that you made the wrong choice. In fact, I understand the reasons you had to leave the country more than anybody else. I even agreed with your mother when she proposed the idea. I'm just telling you what the Ministry's argument is probably going to be, and I want you to be prepared." Severus noticed the fleeting lost expression that crossed Draco's face and the almost unnoticeable tear that appeared at the corner of his eye, winning the battle against the blond man's will. The Potions Master knew how much it hurt Draco that he hadn't been by his mother's side when she died.

"She knew this was going to happen, you know?" Draco said; his eyes lost in the scenery beyond the dining room's window. "She told me. She said that if it wasn't the Ministry, it would be the Death Eaters. Any of them would want to get me. It was a matter of time, really." The blond snorted miserably.

Severus put his fork and knife on his plate, all appetite gone. He hated the look on his godson's face, but he hated most being at a lack of things to say to make him feel better.

Draco had been a key element in the fight against Voldemort. In fact, Severus wasn't sure the Dark Lord would have been defeated if it wasn't in part for the young Slytherin's help. It wasn't a secret that Voldemort didn't trust the Potions Master enough as to tell him all his devious plans and machinations, and that he had only kept Severus by his side so he could have an in-house agent at Hogwarts. It was almost a blessing from the Gods when Draco decided to help him. If there was a place to learn about Voldemort's plans, it was the secretive Upper Seven Slytherin common room. Overexcited Death Eater-wannabes talking about their parents' conversations, more important Death Eaters boasting about their 'heroic' feats over a few shots of Firewhiskey, whispers of settled deals and allegiances amongst pureblooded families… Draco had had his ears open to all that flow of information. Plus, besides Lucius Malfoy, his godson was probably the only person who could recite Tom Riddle's life and work by heart, and this knowledge proved to be very useful when trying to discern Lord Voldemort's strategies.

Severus could only guess about the motives his godson had to turn to the light. Draco had changed a lot after his father's imprisonment, granted. He had turned into a quiet, discreet shadow at Hogwarts. He pushed his superior attitude aside. He even stopped bothering Potter and company. The change didn't go unnoticed by the school staff and population, though. The students from other houses took advantage of Draco's passiveness and mocked him about his new-found poverty –the Ministry of Magic had made sure every asset in Lucius Malfoy's name was confiscated- at any time. Moving to Snape Manor with his mother had been quite the blow to his ego, as well. But Severus knew how hard it was to get rid of old bigoted ideas and doctrines, therefore he wasn't so sure he could give the credit for such a radical detour to the humiliation Draco had faced back then. Besides, the child was a Slytherin to boot; Salazar knows how hard it is for a Slytherin to recapitulate in his or her tracks, especially when they know that recapitulation would expose that they have been wrong all along. No, Draco hadn't made that decision just because his peers made fun of him, or because he was suddenly deprived of all his luxuries and possessions. It had to be something else; something that had always eluded Severus' comprehension...

"Why didn't she say anything?"

Severus was taken aback by the empty tone in which Draco formulated the question. He saw the younger man staring at his plate, moving the food around with his fork, and looking completely despondent. The Potions Master frowned, concerned. Draco Malfoy never let his guards down in front of anybody, not even his godfather. His mother's death must have certainly been a blow to the blond wizard's fortitude.

"I think she believed there were more important things for you to worry about," Severus stated cautiously.

Draco averted his eyes from his food and looked straight at his godfather; his jaw clenching with impotence. "How could she think that? How could she believe she wasn't important to us, to _me_?"

Severus didn't know a way to answer that question without hurting his young charge; still, he went for the truth, as harsh and hurtful as it was. Draco had had his share of lies and façades and power games in his life, and he was determined to put a stop to that.

"She wanted the best for you, and she knew that worrying about her wasn't what you needed at that time."

"So she just let herself die in favour of my own tranquillity," Draco snapped; shaking his head as a tear ran down his sun-kissed cheek. He hated feeling so damn emotional, even more so when he knew he was facing a court full of merciless wizards and witches in an hour; but he couldn't help feeling that he needed to take out what he had bottled up inside since he returned to England or he would just explode in front of a less reassuring audience, which was completely out of the question.

He had left to go to Greece a few months after graduation and little after the Last Battle had taken place. _Shortly after the visits had started_, Draco thought. His mother –who knew all about his collaboration with Snape in the fight against Voldemort- had been very worried about the fact that some Death Eater escapees were aware of Draco's position as an informant for the Order and wanted revenge against him. "_Purebloods don't take treason lightly_," she had said. She had urged him to run away, to disappear until the Ministry got their hands on the remaining hidden minions. "_You are just as good a target as Harry Potter is, my son, and for you it will be worse, for you betrayed your own._" Narcissa had never been a part of Voldemort's followers nor did she ever believe in the ideals he professed, but she was a pureblood, and she knew how purebloods thought. "_The Ministry will start a real witch-hunt now that Lord Voldemort has been defeated. They will search under rocks for what they consider evil and dark in order to quiet the public's claims about their earlier ineptitude, and you're bound to fall into their trap. They'll never believe you weren't on Voldemort's side; not when you kept your allegiances a secret, and even less knowing our family's history._"

Draco had replied that Severus was in the same position and he wasn't considering running away, but she had told him Severus was a grown man, that he could take care of himself, and that Draco was only an eighteen-year-old. He was still too vulnerable, too weak to handle a Death Eater's wrath. She had told him that she only wanted his safety, that it was all she cared about, that she didn't want to see her only son get himself killed because of his childish pride. So he had accepted, only for her peace of mind. Now he realized she had just wanted him away for when her time arrived, and he hated her… Gods! How much he hated her for that.

Narcissa had been ill for a long time, and she hadn't said a word about it.

Because she knew that if she had told him, he wouldn't have left her for anything in the world.

And now he was left to face this pain, this terrible guilt inside of him that threatened to swallow him whole every time he thought about her, all alone.

Draco shook himself back to present time and noticed that his godfather had left the dining room. He also noticed the wet tracks decorating his cheeks and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. _Damn emotions._

He looked at his food and what it had become after his oblivious stirring, and decided he preferred an apple much better. He picked one of the polished green apples set on a plate near the centre of the table, smelled the succulent aroma, and bit delicately into the ripe flesh, relishing the acid, juicy explosion that invaded his mouth. He loved green apples, and not because of their colour, as most people would have thought. He just loved their perfect balance of sourness and sweetness. They reminded him of life, actually. He looked at the partially bitten apple he held in his hand and smiled bitterly. _If only life were so easy to digest…_

Severus came back to the room holding some of the documents he had been reading in the parlour, and taking his seat once more, offered them to Draco. The young Slytherin put the bitten apple on his plate, and taking the parchments, surveyed them with a frown on his face.

"What are these?"

The Potions Master regarded him with a serious expression on his pale face. "Those are the deeds for your father's assets; your rightful inheritance. Narcissa gave them to me before she… passed away." Severus watched Draco going through the documents with rapt attention. "Those are the properties I petitioned for in your name at the Ministry."

The blond Slytherin looked up at his godfather. "All of these? And you think the Ministry is going to release them all under the Aliter Mortis Clause?"

Severus took a muffin from the basket and started nibbling at the butter-covered good. "They have to. Your father is not dead yet, so your case is eligible for the application of the clause. The confiscated intestate property must be bestowed upon you without difficulties… according to the law, that is." The Potions Master scowled at his own words.

"Why the so-called hearing, then?" Draco snorted sardonically.

"That's a rather redundant question, don't you think?" Severus said, sneering. Draco stuck his tongue out at his godfather, which made the older wizard sigh with mock annoyance. "The Ministry needs to make up for their past mistakes, the incompetent fools," he said as he poured himself a cup of dark, bitter tea to go along with his muffin. "It's a well-known fact that Voldemort gathered such great political power during the Second War due to Ministry Officials' preference for Pureblood families' donations; your father being one of the men responsible for diverting the Ministry's attention from the Dark Lord for almost six years. So it wouldn't look good to the public to let Draco Malfoy get everything he asks for so easily, now would it? That would be too much like _old_ times. Furthermore, the fact that you _supposedly_ remained neutral during the Dark War -plus your vanishing act- just gives the Ministry reasons to believe you had something to hide."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, teeth clenched, and looking completely irritated. "Ok," he sighed briskly as he moved to hold his hands in front of his chin, "Let's recapitulate and enter into hypothetical realms for a second. What _if_ I had truly remained neutral? What if I hadn't wanted to be a part of any of it? I mean, you know that if it wasn't for you I wouldn't have helped the Order, but I wouldn't have joined the Dark Side either. Would those idiots still persecute me for my lack of interest in their sodding war?" No matter how much Draco tried, he couldn't understand the minds of those inept morons at the Ministry of Magic, and Severus could acquiesce with the blond wizard's point of view. Still, he had to bring all perspectives to the table.

"Draco, during the war nobody was on neutral ground. Every single soul was touched by its atrocities in some way or another; and you very well know that. Neither the Ministry nor the Order is aware of your cooperation with their cause, but they are aware of your father's beliefs and activities, so the most plausible thing for them to believe is that you secretly supported the Dark Lord. They will try to prove that today, and you'll have to be very careful of what you say up there. You are right. Salazar only knows what they are going to come up with to frame you. This is all about getting themselves a scapegoat, and that scapegoat is you. So it's my humble suggestion that you watch your childish temper and your arrogant attitude. Those won't help you at all in front of the Wizengamot."

Draco sat up gracefully and surveyed the older wizard with a cold, calculating glint in his mercury eyes; his face masked with icy composure. That didn't fool his godfather one bit. Severus Snape knew his godson was seething inside because of the truth in his words.

After a short moment, the blond finally spoke, calm determination ringing in his voice, "I will treat the Wizengamot and the other Ministry officials with the courtesy and respect any authority figure must be regarded with." Draco paused for a second, as if to give his words time to reverberate in the spacious room. "However, I will not tolerate any abuse from them, nor will I remain impassive to any injustice I consider myself subjected to. I will speak my mind and my mind alone. I don't care about the consequences. If they want to play Holy Inquisition with me and use this hearing to interrogate me about my past, it will be in their best interests to be fair about the whole thing, for I'll be damned if I let them bombard me with false accusations and not hex them all until oblivion, giving them real bloody reasons to send me to Azkaban."

Severus eyes narrowed dangerously.

"For Salazar's beard, Draco!" the dark-haired wizard snapped. "There are a lot of people who want to see you behind bars because of your last name. These are _not_ lenient days we are living in! The Ministry is truly on a witch-hunt for every Death Eater on the face of the Earth, and for them, you are one of them! You can end this farce by telling them everything about what you did for their pathetic cause! You are as much a reason for their happy new world as Harry bloody Potter!" The Potions Master hit the table in anger, his eyes dark and ominous, feeling utterly frustrated with the young man in front of him.

"No! I didn't tell them then, and I won't tell them now!" Draco didn't even wince at his godfather's actions and his words dripped liquid nitrogen. "I won't hide behind it. I won't pull out the joker card at the last hand. They don't have anything, _anything_ against me. All they have is a myriad of vague suppositions," he said lowering his tone of voice when he noticed his godfather was almost shaking with anger.

"So you are just going to let them get you? Is that it? Only because of that pathetic Malfoy pride that hasn't gotten you anywhere?" Severus snarled furiously. Draco consciously ignored Severus' insult to his bloodline.

"No, I won't _let_ them get me," the blond said fiercely. "If they are as righteous as they say they are, they will have to sign those damn release forms and give back what's mine. You said so yourself. I _am_ going to get everything that was taken from me, and it better not have anything to do with my bloody surname, but with the fact that I'm only exercising my rights."

"I said that because I thought you'd be clever enough to _play_ _the_ _bloody game_!"

Draco narrowed his eyes at that comment, and folding his arms across his chest, sat back in his chair.

"I'm tired of playing games."

They stayed there, staring at each other with icy eyes for what appeared to be a long time, but in fact was only minutes, one wizard utterly frustrated and concerned about the other's future, the other mentally steeling himself for the new test he was going to face and wondering if he would be able to survive once more. The air seemed to have frozen around them as they faced one another, wishing inwardly the other would _just understand_.

Severus finished his cup of tea, trying to get a hold of his temper, as he appraised Draco's face thoroughly with his unreadable jet eyes. When he finally spoke, he did so with calm acceptance ringing in his voice; his smooth tone conveying finality.

"Do what you think best, Draco. You're a grown man now. I've done my job by advising you; to follow it or not, is up to you." The Potions Master stood up, and with his face set in an unreadable mask, he added, "It's time now. We must go."

Draco looked up at his godfather, nodded curtly, and stood up as well. After looking around the luxurious room as if trying to engrave its details in his memory, he followed the night-haired wizard to the gates of Snape Manor under a radiant sun that shone happily up above; the playful wind running through his shoulder-length blond hair. He searched his dark blue robes for his wand and closed his eyes when he felt the reassurance of the polished wood against his palm.

_Whatever will be, will be_, he thought; and with a murmured spell, Draco Malfoy disapparated with Severus Snape to the Ministry of Magic.

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"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! Harry! Tommy Adams from the Prophet! What are your impressions about being the Auror in charge of the investigation regarding Draco Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Cause?"

"Harry! Laura Plenzic from The Turning Times! How does it feel to be facing your school nemesis again? Are you up for a duel or are you both past your childhood rivalries?"

"Harry! Joanne Pringles, for Witch Weekly! How is your engagement with sweetheart Ginny Weasley coming along? What about wedding dates?"

Harry Potter tried to make his way through the horde of vultures –known world wide as reporters- crowding the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. The steps to the grand building were literally covered by an immeasurable amount of people with magical cameras, Dict-O-Quills, and Roll-Out-Parchments trying to get the best angles and notes from the famous war hero; not to mention the myriad of fans and onlookers that had showed up just to witness such an important event of the Magical Community.

The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Utterly-Harassed-By-The-Media pushed his way through the mass of people guarded by a couple of Ministry Officials as if some kind of celebrity. _Well, I am a celebrity of sorts, _he thought as he constantly repeated the favourite expression of all personalities around the world: "No comments". After much struggle and a few waves and smiles for the cameras –'If you can't beat them, join them,' Harry would have said- he finally got inside of the impressive structure. Standing by the front desk with a gleeful smile playing on his lips and arms crossed casually over his chest, was one very amused Ron Weasley; tall and slender physique clothed in navy Auror robes.

"I swear, mate! I don't know how you can put up with that every sodding day! It's mayhem out there!" Ron said as a greeting as the emerald-eyed man walked to where he was standing. Harry Potter looked sheepishly behind his shoulder at the gates he had just walked in through, where a few Ministry Officials where trying to hold the doors closed against the frantic crowd of people outside.

"Oh, well. What can I say? They can't seem to get enough of me, I guess." Harry gave the redhead a quizzical smile, his luminous emerald eyes shining smugly, to which the redhead answered with a roll of his eyes.

"And of course, apparating inside the building like every other Auror is out of the question; especially when you have devoted fans to impress," Ron replied with mock annoyance, shaking his head. "And you used to say you hated it."

Harry's grin became even more conceited just to keep up with his friend's game.

"Oh, I _do_ hate it! I just realized it is much better to have them," he signalled to the door and immediately hundreds of flashes and waving of hands could be noticed through the thick glass, "on my side. I've had enough experiences with angered tabloids to last me a lifetime."

"Yeah, right! Please, tell me that again when you ask me to accompany you to _yet_ another photo-shoot session for Wicked Seventeen!" Ron suppressed a laugh at Harry's suddenly shocked expression. "Oh, come on! Let's go to the cafeteria for something to eat. It's too early in the morning and my stomach is already protesting."

The black-haired man, finding his best friend and soon-to-be brother-in-law's suggestion rather appealing, nodded his agreement. "Yeah, let's do that. We still have an hour before the hearing starts, and who knows when we will be able to grab something to eat after that. This thing may last for hours." Ron snorted as both men started heading towards the cafeteria, which was just a couple of hallways away on the ground level of the Ministry of Magic.

"From what I'm told, it's going to actually be quick business. I heard the chief prosecutor has some aces up his sleeve. It seems we are going to get rid of all Malfoys once and for all," Ron said with a sly smile on his face. _This is going to be such a nice day_, the redhead thought.

"What do you mean by 'a few aces up his sleeve'?" Harry asked; a little perturbed by his best friend's demeanour, although not quite understanding the reason. "The Department sent the report indicating we couldn't find any proof of Malfoy's involvement in Voldemort-related activities. We can't come up with any excuse to lock him in just because we don't like him."

They had reached the cafeteria; a small room with a few vintage tables and chairs, a trolley with an arrangement of fast foods featuring a scrawny blond-haired witch sitting behind it, and an espresso machine. A couple of Aurors and other Ministry Officials were scattered around, submerged in their food or inconsequential conversation. The two friends stood in front of the trolley, where the witch kept giving Harry lustful glances.

"He's bringing in witnesses," Ron said to the black-haired man in a conspiratorial voice and then turned to the skinny witch, who was dressed in ridiculous floral robes. "Good morning. One ham sandwich with mustard only, one chicken burrito and a vanilla flavoured latte, please." The witch, however, seemed unable to do anything else besides stare at the Golden Boy, which was annoying both men to no end. Ron sighed. "I would also appreciate it if I got my food some time around this century." The witch glared at the redhead, but complied with his request with no more than a grunt. He paid for his food, and Harry placed his order –a ham sandwich, a tangerine, and a cinnamon flavoured latte- afterwards. Ron took notice of the fact that the witch appeared to fill Harry's cup of coffee a little more than she had his, and a bit annoyed, he murmured something that sounded unbelievably close to "Bloody fans!". After the beloved hero had paid, they found a table near a magical window and sat down to indulge in their food.

"Witnesses? What kind of witnesses?" Harry said as he took his tangerine and smelled it deeply after peeling it. He loved the smell of tangerines. He bit one of the succulent segments, and marvelled at the sour sweetness that filled his mouth. Ron, who had a mouthful of burrito _and_ ham sandwich revolving around in his nearly-closed mouth, swallowed hard a few times before being able to speak.

"Witnesses who can validate Malfoy's support for the Dark Lord. It seems the prosecutor had his pick! There are a lot out there wanting to testify against the stupid ferret." Harry tilted his eyebrow at the childish comment, but Ron just shrugged it off.

"That doesn't mean the stories are true, Ron. People are biased against the Malfoys." Ron gave Harry a scornful look for what the redhead believed to be the most ingenuous of comments in the history of ingenuous comments.

"I can't believe you are so certain about that git's innocence. Good Circe, Harry! That bleached idiot made our life a living hell at Hogwarts, and it's not a secret how he so vehemently believed in purity of blood and all that crap! I bet that even now, with Voldemort long vanished from the face of the earth, he still worships his picture behind closed doors. His father was Voldemort's key man; of course the stupid ferret supported the madman."

Harry remained quiet for a few seconds, staring into space whilst thoughtlessly eating his tangerine. His emerald eyes veiled the deep frustration he was feeling over the fact that his best friend still hadn't gotten over his hate for Draco Malfoy, even after all these years. He had thought that being an Auror had taught Ron something about life and the grey spectrum it unavoidably swings upon. Harry thought about his own situation. He had killed many during the Second War, and he was considered a "hero" because of it. Malfoy, on the other hand, had denigrated and patronized people all his life, but he had never raised his wand and said the Killing Curse to anyone. Still, the blond was the one considered "evil" and "dangerous" because of his kinship; an irony if he ever knew one. Harry took a sip of his coffee with that thought spinning around in his mind.

"I stick to the facts," he said after a short while, and Ron scowled over his practically-gone burrito. "I don't want to remember how many mistakes we've made because we followed our own prejudiced assumptions. What if we _are_ wrong about Malfoy? What if he really didn't support Voldemort?"

"Why didn't he help the Order, then?" was Ron's quick reply. "The bastard could have been of some help, being a Slytherin and a _known-Death Eater's son_!" he continued, emphasizing the last words. "But no! The stupid coward flew from the country when things got a little rough. You know what? Now that I think about it, maybe you are right! He couldn't have been a Death Eater. He's too pathetic to fit the profile."

Harry sighed with annoyance as he casually brushed away some locks of hair that had strayed over his eyes. "Can you be just a little objective, here? I'm not saying the prick is a saint. In fact, I can't count the times I wanted to hex his stupid arse for all the things he did to us, but that doesn't mean I am going to take this opportunity to even the score and send him to Azkaban over false allegations. It isn't right, Ron, and you very well know that what Ralph Luton is doing with this inheritance hearing isn't right either."

Ron, who had finished his food and was currently taking his time savouring his vanilla latte, looked at his best friend with a thoughtful expression on his face as he contemplated Harry's words.

"Ok. Maybe it _is_ a little fishy that Luton is turning the hearing into a trial of sorts, but it's about bloody time someone did just that! We have been chasing Death Eaters for the last eight months, Harry, and if Draco Malfoy is one of them this is the best chance we have to lock him in for good. Did you know it wasn't even him who filed the petition for the inheritance assessment? It was Severus Snape!"

"So?" Harry replied nonchalantly, swallowing a big bite of his sandwich and licking a drop of mayonnaise that had escaped to the side of his mouth. "Snape is his godfather, for Merlin's sake. He was the only one here to handle all the paperwork after Narcissa's death."

"Well? What do you say about that? His mother was dying of cancer whilst her precious son was tanning in the Mediterranean! I should have thought the stupid bloke would be _that_ clichéd. I swear, if I had known he was hiding in Greece, I would have apparated there and got him myself!"

The Golden Boy didn't know if he should laugh or argue the statement. "Yes, it _is_ weird that he wasn't with his mother when she died. I thought they were really close." Harry finished his sandwich with one last bite. Ron just snorted.

"Close? I don't think the ferret could handle being close to anyone… besides his own conceited self, that is. Mum told me it was obvious she was sick. Narcissa visited Hogwarts a few times during this past year, and Mum said that the last time she saw her she was pretty bad already." Harry frowned as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Narcissa visited Hogwarts? Whatever for?"

"Who cares? She was probably complaining about Malfoy's poor education in the Dark Arts or something."

"Weird." The dark-haired wizard mused out loud, lost in secret reveries.

"And talking about Mum, I still don't get why she volunteered for Pomfrey's job. She loves complaining about how reckless the students are these days, but I guess she needed something to fill up her time now that all her kids have practically left the nest," Ron said with a gleeful smile; his clear blue eyes shining mischievously. "By the way, she didn't like it that you sent Ginny home so late last night."

That little comment brought Harry crashing back to reality.

"Really? Is she really mad?" the Boy Who Lived asked sheepishly, already dreading his next visit to the Burrow. Molly Weasley's temper was something he thought even Voldemort didn't want to come across.

"Nah," Ron laughed at Harry's panicked face. "She is just overreacting, as always. She'll get over it."

"I hope so… Bugger! I shouldn't have fallen asleep last night."

"Oh, Ginny told me you had another nightmare. Was it bad?" the redhead said, showing concern for his friend. Harry looked a little aghast at that comment, which Ron understood as an unspoken '_Like_ _Hell'_.

"Er… it was nothing, really." _Liar_, the Boy Who Lived told himself. "I don't even remember very much of it." _Wicked, sinful liar._ _Why did Ron have to bring _that _up now?_

"Well, I seriously believe you need to get some help for those nightmares, mate. It's not normal that you keep having them," the redhead said with a worried face, much to Harry's chagrin.

"I'm fine, Ron. It's just stress or something." The aforementioned wizard gave him a sceptical look. "Honestly! You know, with all the work we've been having and this bloody hearing and everything. Don't worry about it." Harry finally finished his coffee and stood up, consciously going for a change of subject. "We better go now. It's almost ten. The courtroom must be crowded by now."

Ron nodded and stood up as well, stretching out his long limbs and fixing his robe collar.

"Well," the redhead said with a grin on his face. "It's _Showtime_!"

Harry rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, shaking his head half-heartedly at the other wizard's foolish demeanour. However, the Golden Boy couldn't ignore the strange feeling that had settled itself in the pit of his stomach all of the sudden. Something told him this hearing wasn't going to be as "quick" as Ron had suggested.

"Yeah, come on. Let's go."

The two men exited the small cafeteria and got into the elevator that would take them to the second floor of the Ministry of Magic, where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizengamot held their headquarters.

Little did they know, Showtime was exactly what they and everybody else was in for.

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TBC…

**Author Notes**

**Animus Salutor:** Hopefully (and I say that because I don't know much about the language) it means "Soul Visitor" in Latin.

**Aliter** **Mortis:** Again, it's supposed to mean something like "other than death". I'm not a Latin Erudite, so please; don't laugh if my attempts show my ignorance rather well!


	3. The Principles of Hyperventilation

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** **T – PG-13** (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Don't sue.

**Author Note:** I'm reposting all the original chapters from this story. A few changes have been made, but nothing big. I seriously, _seriously_ want to know your opinions about it! Oh yes, I forgot… _Ahem_ ºclears throat and adopts speech postureº

_Wizards and witches, they flick their wands;_

_I just write fics for your delight. _

_You read and read, and if they're good, _

_At the end you leave a nice review!_

**Another Author Note: **Once again, thanks to **Enchant** for Beta-ing this. I changed the title of this chapter for I don't know what I was thinking the day I wrote it. Oh, well. On with it…

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter Two**

The Principles of Hyperventilation

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter reached the open doors of the Wizengamot courtroom a few minutes before ten a.m. The magnificent tribunal, decorated in gold and purple, was the quintessence of the Magical World's power and prosperity. The purest white marble covered the floors and walls. Rows of rich Empire Style chairs were arranged on both sides of the spacious room, leaving a centre aisle for circulation. There was a solid mahogany table decorated with marquetry placed on a platform at the end of the courtroom, with four throne-like chairs set behind it. To the right side of the table was the witness box, and facing both were the docks for the prosecutor and the defence.

"Bloody Hell! This place is packed!" Ron said when they stepped foot inside the courtroom. Harry surveyed the tribunal. The audience section had been turned into a sea of colourful robes and hats featuring passionate wizards talking to each other, witches waving fans over their made-up faces, children crying, Aurors and Ministry Officials running around… a sight which could have made one Neville Longbottom have a cardiac arrest were he the one sitting on the dock. The media box placed near the entrance was crowded with journalists from selected newspapers and magazines, all of them babbling into magical recorders and Quick-Quotes Quills. The noise inside the court was unbelievable, and it became louder –if possible- when the media and some attendees noticed the famous Harry Potter entering the room.

"Good Gods!" Harry fought back a wave of nausea as he remembered his own 'Wizengamot experience' and realised he didn't envy the difference one bit. "I don't think the Wizengamot Supreme Court has ever been this crowded in all its history!" _Malfoy is going to faint when he sees this_, Harry thought; he certainly couldn't help feeling sorry for the haughty blond at the moment, but he would never say that out loud.

"Let's go get our seats. They must be somewhere in the front," Ron said with that sly smile back in place. He wasn't paying any attention to the hideous mass of reporters revolving around them that he always found so annoying. He didn't care at all about the struggling and the screaming for autographs. He only had one thing on his mind: _Malfoy is going down today, and with an _audience!

How could he not feel so happy?

"Harry! Ron! Over here!" The two wizards turned their heads in the direction the voice was calling to find Angelina Johnson –head of the Auror Department- and Seamus Finnegan –her newly-appointed assistant- waving at them from the third row. The two wizards made their way across the aisle –Harry stopping to sign a few posters and shake a couple of hands- to their seats. They sat in the two chairs next to their friends' and colleagues.

"Blimey, Lina! Did the Department planned ahead for this mess?" Ron said after the mandatory greetings, looking around the crowded place. Angelina scowled.

"We have a few Aurors watching the gates and the Minister sent in some of his own guards to help with Malfoy's security. He's afraid the bastard is going to get lynched before the hearing starts." Ron laughed, gaining a reproving look from Harry.

"I say let them lynch the ferret! We'd save ourselves tons of paperwork!"

"Hey! Do you guys know what Luton is planning for the hearing? I've heard rumours saying he's very optimistic he'll win the case," Seamus cut in with his deep Irish accent, grinning wickedly at the possibility.

_Gods! Does everybody want to see Malfoy ruined?_ the Boy Who Lived found himself thinking, to his utmost chagrin. He scowled at his own noble sentiments; he certainly didn't give a damn about the obnoxious brat's feelings! Ron took the gesture as a sign of acquiescence, giving his best mate a pat on the back, smiling.

"Of course he's going to win this bloody case! And I'll be delighted to be the one escorting Malfoy to his cell in Azkaban; the one right next to his _daddy's_!" Everybody laughed, except of course, the Golden Boy. He was getting quite worried about such a demonstration of bigotry. Still, he remained quiet during the whole exchange.

"Fudge is having a field day with this hearing. The survey numbers haven't been this high since he got elected," Angelina added in her flippant tone as she inspected her nails, "and that means the Department gets its share of the recognition as well. Merlin knows we need the resources!"

"Oh, come on, you guys!" the Boy Who Lived finally said with exasperation. "Did you forget we have to be impartial in this case? We did our job and we didn't find anything. That's where our involvement stops and that's where our thoughts must…"

Harry Potter trailed off as some commotion at the other side of the courtroom caught his attention. He couldn't hear the retort his best friend was saying about his comment, nor could he hear the expressions and insults emanating from everywhere around him. Suddenly, all of his senses were focused on a single figure making its way through the mass of reporters, guarded by Ministry Officials. His breath caught in his throat and his quickened heartbeats became loud and clear in his ears, like a soundtrack playing in the background. All of his nerve endings exploded out of control as a long shiver ran throughout his body. The earth seemed to stop spinning on its axis and everything around him turned into a blur.

Walking towards the end of the courtroom, his quicksilver eyes shining with pride and haughtiness, his face –once pale and fragile, now beautifully sun-kissed and matured- set in a blank mask, his long blond hair free and untamed, his broad shoulders squared under the dark blue robe, was the reason for the raven-haired wizard's current state. Harry Potter blinked a few times, trying to regain control. His stomach did a flip-flop, an abrupt fear making his body temperature drop a few degrees. He couldn't believe his eyes, and yet, there was no mistaking who this stunning man was.

That knowledge struck him right to the core.

"Malfoy," he breathed.

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Draco hadn't even opened his eyes after apparating inside of the Ministry of Magic when he found himself assaulted by a bombardment of flashes and questions. _Damn reporters_, he thought. Besides him, Severus let out a very colourful expletive at the sight of the frantic mass surrounding them. The older wizard signalled to a couple of officials -who apparently were awaiting their arrival behind the front desk- and immediately the appointed bodyguards made their way to the harassed pair, creating an opening for them to pass. The two wizards were escorted to the courtroom by their two protectors through a special passageway -used only by the Wizengamot members and distinctive witnesses- in order to get there in one piece. Severus Snape looked at his godson. If the blond was scared, he certainly wasn't showing it.

"Well, you've already gotten a glimpse of what this hearing is going to be. I hope you know what you're doing."

"If I had known I was this popular, I certainly would have showed up earlier and signed some autographs," Draco said in his copyrighted drawl as he followed the two gorillas in front of him. "You know how much I love being the centre of attention." Severus couldn't help the slight upwards turn of his lips.

"I bet you would have. Anyway, we are almost there. Remember; try to control your attitude. It's the only thing I ask of you."

Draco breathed in deeply a few times; his fists closed tightly at his sides. At the end of the passageway there was a solid wooden door. One of the guards cast a spell neither of his charges heard, and suddenly the door opened to reveal… well, mayhem really.

Draco clung to every single ounce of self-control he possessed to not turn around and run in the exact opposite direction in that moment. A cold wave of panic ran through his whole body as he was faced with the harsh reality of what he truly was in for that day, but he pushed it back to wherever it had sprung from.

_Oh, Hell_…

The blond wizard walked into the crammed full tribunal flanked by his godfather and the two Ministry Officials through a myriad of foul comments, flashes and questions from the media. His face showed none of the thousand emotions running in no special order through his head. This was it. This was the ultimate ordeal. If he survived this, he could finally be free; he could have his life back.

They made their way to the dock. Draco didn't even look once around the courtroom once. He didn't damn well feel like seeing those faces full of hatred and disgust staring back at him. He couldn't help but feel the cold wave of anger building in his stomach. Half of those people didn't even belong there; they had showed up only for entertainment's sake, to boast about the fact that they had been at Draco Malfoy's hearing. In that moment, he wondered if that was how Harry Potter had felt that day during their fifth year when he faced the Wizengamot and their false accusations. Damn it! He had been thrilled at the prospect of getting rid of Potter once and for all at that time. Now, he didn't think he wished what was happening to him upon anybody. _Oh, wait… the golden idiot is testifying against me today, isn't he? I bet he must be _dying _of excitement._

Draco couldn't help to snarl at his own thoughts. _Stupid, conceited, stuck-up sod._

"Now what?" he said when both wizards had reached their seats at the dock.

"Now we wait." _This place is a circus_, the Potions Master thought. _Damn Luton and his ludicrous charade. _

They didn't have to wait too long, for exactly at ten a.m. the main doors to the courtroom were closed and several figures entered the room through the side door they had just come in through. Silence suddenly reigned over the place. Five wizards and a witch, four of them dressed in purple robes and the other two in navy, made their way towards the end of the court; solemn expressions on their faces. The two wizards dressed in navy costumes took their seats at the prosecutor desk, whilst the other four went to sit behind the splendid table.

"The court is now in session," said in a grave tone a guard standing by the witness box. The murmurs of the journalists could be heard throughout the courtroom, stating the very same thing the guard had said. It seemed they were having a live broadcast of the event. One of the old wizards sitting at the presidium cleared his throat, holding his glasses over a piece of parchment.

"Case 4982/G. Inheritance assessment under the Aliter Mortis clause, filed on the eighteenth of August by Severus Claudius Snape on behalf of Draco Lucius Malfoy."

The old wizard paused to look around the quiet courtroom. "Are the applicants present today?" Severus stood up swiftly, nodding his head with respect. "Yes, your honour. I'm also standing as Mr. Malfoy's legal representative." The old wizard nodded back. "Excellent. Let's start the procedures, shall we?" Severus addressed the court.

"Your honour, it is well known by the Magical Community that the whole of the Malfoy family's assets were seized by the Ministry after Mr. Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment. As it is stated in our petition, we requested eight weeks ago the granting of all intestate property to Mr. Malfoy's only heir and son under the Aliter Mortis clause before the Ministry, as there is no will to dispose of the possessions and we believe it unfair to wait until Mr. Malfoy Senior's death for my client to obtain what is rightfully his. However, the Ministry has not obliged to our previous claim so far; therefore, we stand here today before this court hoping our demand will finally be resolved, if not by fair disposition, _then_ by legal injunction."

A murmur ran throughout the court after the Potions Master's words. Phrases such as "how dare he" and "what insolence" could be heard amongst the attendees. In the media box, the journalists were already having the time of their lives. Draco snorted to himself. It seemed his godfather had already been classified as 'persona non grata' by association amongst the Magical Community –as if he had ever been considered otherwise- even after he had received the Order of Merlin, First Class award due to his collaboration as a double agent during the Second War.

_What a bunch of hypocrites_, the blond scoffed.

"Order!" The old wizard let his voice fill the courtroom, hitting the gavel once against the table and obtaining immediate results. He then turned and whispered something to his companions, getting comments and nods from them. The witch sitting next to him stared sternly at Draco, which the young wizard responded to with a smirk and a cold glint in his mercury eyes, causing the middle-aged woman to look away. The young Slytherin almost laughed at the woman's effrontery.

When the Wizengamot finished their little discussion, the old wizard spoke again.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy's request is completely reasonable, Mr. Snape. However, you must understand that the circumstances surrounding his father's imprisonment bring other issues to the table. This is not what we could consider a regular inheritance assessment case. As you must be aware of, the Ministry has filed a cross-complaint before this court basing its allegations on decree 683, which states that all Death Eaters' heirs and heiresses must be subjected to proper investigations in order to determine whether it is plausible to grant them the seized property or not. The reasons are quite obvious, I trust. Therefore, this court is open to both sides' allegations and will consequently rule upon them. Now, if Mr. Luton here is ready for his opening statement, he may begin."

At the signal, one of the wizards sitting at the dock next to theirs stood up and cleared his throat. The man was quite chubby, and his short stature only enhanced the fact. He had little to no hair on his head, and his small eyes looked like little knobs on his round face; his absurdly thin lips curved in a snotty –and completely grotesque- smile. His robes seemed to be about to burst open any minute now, and his yellowish skin was shiny with sweat. He looked exactly like the pig he probably was; simply disgusting, in Draco's opinion.

"Absolutely, your honour."

The supposedly derisive but undeniably feminine voice that came out of that mouth was almost Draco's undoing. He had to breathe deeply more times than he cared to confess not to explode with laughter. He ventured a glance at his godfather, who had taken his seat once more, and was utterly joyful with the fact that Severus' expression resembled a mixture of reproach and mockery as the older wizard regarded the joke of a prosecutor making his way now to the front. The blond snorted once again to himself as he surveyed the fat wizard who was supposed to send him to prison. How a person with such a pathetic voice, such a hideous appearance, and with such an ignorance of the fine art of hauteur can be the most feared prosecutor in all the Magical World was certainly beyond Draco's comprehension.

Ralph Luton walked to the front of the audience with all of the finesse his large physique could grant him and looked around the crowded room with a satisfactory smile on his face.

"What Mr. Snape here," he waved a chubby hand to where Draco and Severus were seated, "has so cleverly –albeit unsuccessfully- tried to portray as governmental incompetence, is actually the Ministry of Magic doing its job as the guarantor of peace and justice our beloved Magical Community so rightfully deserves, for it _is_ the Ministry's responsibility to preserve the common good over whatever private interests that may threaten it." The audience almost clapped their hands for such an inspiring statement. The obnoxious man looked straight at Draco with his sardonic little smile plastered on his disgusting face, and the blond felt the small sparks of anger stir in his insides, even when his trained features showed only mild interest for what was going on around him. The prosecutor smiled condescendingly at his prey.

"Although Mr. Malfoy here is merely exercising his… _rights_ with his petition, unfortunately for him this Ministry of Magic is not, and I vehemently repeat, is _not_ what it used to be ten years ago, when the power and prestige of the Pureblood families were used against their own kind, and favours and requests were granted without asking any questions.

"This Ministry, the one we all are so proud of, is _determined_ to obliterate those times from its history! As wizards and witches, as respectable members of this community, we won't hesitate to uphold the great values we so dearly embrace. We won't let, under any circumstance, our community down! Today, justice _will_ prevail; and this humble public servant and the wonderful team behind him is going to prove why this man's plea should not be answered," the prosecutor had his right index finger haughtily pointed at Draco, who had to switch to deep-breathing mode in order to keep his composure, "and why he deserves to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban Prison!"

The court erupted in a round of applause and some attendees even stood up for an ovation. Ralph Luton looked at the response with a condescending smile playing around his lips; obviously satisfied with his opening act. He took his seat again as he looked at the defendant with disdain. The Potions Master, sensing Draco's hidden anger, grabbed the blonde's forearm; a silent plea for forbearance. At the table, the old wizard hit the gavel several times, trying to impose silence once more.

"Order! Order! This type of behaviour is not tolerated in a courtroom! Silence, I say!" The audience finally settled, and the old man shook his head, scowling. "Mr. Luton, as passionate as you may be about this case, I suggest you put off the histrionics for _after_ the hearing has ended." Ralph Luton nodded in acquiescence, but his triumphant demeanour didn't change one bit. "Now," the Wizengamot wizard added, "I believe the prosecution has assembled a group of witnesses?"

Luton stood up once more. "Yes, your honour. The prosecution would like to call forward our first witness," another derisive smile towards Draco, "Miss Pansy Parkinson."

Once again, a murmur ran through the courtroom as the doors opened and a tall blond-haired witch with pink robes and matching hat entered the tribunal. Her face was set in a smirk, and she walked with an air of superiority that was even more suffocating than the smell of the patchouli surrounding her.

"_What_?" Draco couldn't prevent the astonished question, even when it escaped his mouth through gritted teeth. He couldn't believe his ears –or his eyes- for that matter. "Pansy? Pansy _sodding_ Parkinson? What the hell does she have to say against me?" Draco asked his godfather, who -judging by the scowl adorning his pale features- had expected something like that to happen.

"Whatever an aggravated _witch_ can come up with." Severus didn't look too thrilled about the prospect and Draco knew exactly what his godfather's words meant.

_Oh… Bloody Hell! Should I start getting worried now_? Draco thought as he massaged his temples. How long had he been there? Ten, fifteen minutes? Well, he was already getting a headache. And that was _not_ a good sign.

The haughty blond walked to the witness box, giving Draco a mocking smile and waving her jewellery-covered hand at him as she past by the defendant dock. Draco had these maniac urges to strangle her right there and then and wipe that stupid smile off her ridiculously daubed face, but of course, that wouldn't look too good in front of the Wizengamot, would it? The witch approached the guard standing by the box, and the official took a golden wand out of a wooden box. The guard pointed the tool right at Pansy's heart.

"Do you solemnly swear to speak the truth and nothing but the truth under a magical oath?"

"I do," the witch said with her high pitched voice. The tip of the wand shone with a pale blue light, and with that the guard put it away in its container. She took her seat, never taking her eyes off of Draco, who was regarding her with a frozen glint on his mercury eyes.

"Miss Parkinson," Ralph Luton had walked towards the box and was now standing at the side; one hand casually placed on the balustrade. "You've known Mr. Malfoy here for a long time, haven't you?" She put on her most innocent face.

"Oh, yes! We've known each other since we were babies. Our parents were good friends. We went to Hogwarts together, as well. We were in the same house... but of course, you already knew that." Luton nodded.

"Yes, indeed. And how can you define your relationship with Mr. Malfoy?"

"Draco and I were close; _really_ close, if you catch my meaning." The court erupted in whispers once more, gaining the same response from the old wizard at the judges table.

"Order!" After a few seconds, the prosecutor resumed his examination.

"Miss Parkinson, did Mr. Malfoy ever comment on his allegiances during the war? Did he ever talk about his father's involvement with the Dark Lord? We all know what a role model Malfoy Senior was for his son."

"Objection, your honour!" Severus jumped unexpectedly from his seat. "The prosecution is leading the witness!" The Wizengamot wizard nodded at the Potions Master. The other members kept whispering to each other.

"Sustained. Mr. Luton, can you please examine the witness without speaking your own mind?"

"Of course, your honour." The fat man scowled, but obliged nonetheless. He turned once more to Pansy.

"Let's rephrase the question, shall we? Did Mr. Malfoy here ever talk about his opinions on the Dark Lord?" Pansy looked pensive for a few seconds, and then sneered at Draco.

"He said many times that the Dark Lord was the greatest wizard on the face of the earth."

As practically expected, the audience exploded with exclamations of astonishment and foul comments. Phrases such as "Voldemort, the best wizard on the face of the earth, according to Draco Malfoy" and "He looked up to the Dark Lord" could be heard from the media box, reverberating in the room amongst the flashes, beeps, and scratches of magical cameras and Dict-O-Quills. Draco was positively seething, and Severus had to hold the younger wizard's forearm once more to keep him from strangling the obnoxious witch.

"_Don't_ make it any harder than it already is," he whispered to the blond, but his voice held that particular tone that meant he wasn't fooling around. Draco narrowed his mercury eyes at his godfather, and when he spoke, his tone was as acerbic as hydrochloric acid. "If I used to think Voldemort was great, she wanted to have his gods-forsaken _heir_! Why isn't that bitch in this dock with me then?"

"She has openly uttered her redemption and is now a _respectable_ member of the community, that's why! Now, get a grip, for Salazar's teeth! Or do I have to put you under Imperio to have you behave properly?" Jet-black orbs pierced stormy grey with suppressed fury, and the Slytherin had to swallow his anger and the rising sense of indignation that was threatening to make him do something really stupid in that moment. Finally, the sounds of a gavel being hit repeatedly against wood and the rusty "Order!"s coming from the presidium overpowered the chaos in the courtroom.

"How interesting." Luton ventured a glance to the inwardly-seething young wizard at the dock. "Miss Parkinson, what happened to Mr. Malfoy after his father was sent to prison?"

"Well, he and his mother went to live with Professor Snape." She looked at her former head of house with the most hypocritical smile plastered on her face. "You see, _Drake_ didn't speak much to anyone after his father was sent to Azkaban. I guess he was too embarrassed, although he would never say that out loud. The only people who remained faithful to him after that were Blaise Zabini and me."

"Did he talk about the Dark Lord during that time?"

"To tell the truth, only once; at the end of our fifth year, he swore revenge against Harry Potter for sending his daddy to prison. Drake was truly upset when he found out." Pansy waved her hand at the war hero sitting in the third row of the audience, who had remained completely inconspicuous during the whole thing and who once again regained everybody's attention after her comment. The Boy Who Lived seemed too absorbed in his own thoughts, though, and a knock from his red-haired friend was required to bring him back to earth. "The defendant swore to kill our Golden Boy!" one journalist stated too loudly into her Magicphone and everybody gasped with outrage. Well, almost everyone. There was one blond Slytherin too caught up in cursing his childhood 'friend' to pay attention to what was going on at that moment, and one Potions Master too annoyed by the aforementioned hero to grant him one ounce of his precious attention.

"Thank Merlin Mr. Malfoy didn't go through with his evil plans!" Ralph Luton exclaimed at the tops of his lungs. Really, histrionics came too easily for the disgusting prosecutor. "But he still escaped after the final battle, which clearly means he was running away from something. Did you know what it was or even _where_ he had run to?"

"Oh!" Pansy looked quite affronted. "I didn't have a clue that he was planning to run away!" She started sobbing. "We were supposed to get married after graduation; that's what our parents had planned for the both of us since we were born." She looked at the Slytherin with accusatory eyes. "But he left the country without telling me. Just like that! I learned about his departure from Narcissa, who told me Draco had gone away and that he wasn't going to marry me. She didn't even tell me where he was or why he had left, even after I pleaded! I loved Draco Malfoy deeply. He was my first love! I was so devastated!" She conjured a handkerchief and started crying her heart out. The audience let out a collective "Ahhh!". A wizard from the audience stood up and yelled "Bastard!" to Draco, who merely raised an eyebrow and exchanged irritated looks with his godfather.

_Brainless, annoying, two-faced bitch_!

Luton smiled condescendingly at the crying woman. "I am so sorry you had to go through all that pain, Miss Parkinson. Don't you worry; nothing in this life goes unpunished. Thank you so much for your collaboration." He turned to the presidium. "That will be all, your honour." The prosecutor walked towards his seat once again, getting a slap on the back from his assistant for such a nice job. The old wizard spoke after he had finished taking notes and whispering with his colleagues.

"Does the defence wish to cross-examine the witness?"

"No, your honour," the Potions Master stated firmly; his fingers stippled under his chin.

"_What_?" Draco exclaimed a little too loudly for a whisper. "Are you going to let her go without putting her in her place?"

Severus looked sternly at the blond. "She spoke the truth. I have nothing to refute." It was final, and Draco just stared, mouth open, at the black-haired man in front of him. A knot formed in his throat, and his mind went totally blank as he desperately tried to fight back the bitter feeling of frustration engulfing his heart.

"Right."

It was merely a murmur, cold and distant as death's breath, and those eyes of fused silver reflected the void inside the young man's chest.

"Miss Parkinson, you may go now." The old warlock said kindly to the witch after regarding the defendant with unreadable eyes. The young woman nodded her reply, and wiping the black tears from her face, stood up from the witness box. As she turned around to leave, a wicked smile appeared on her lips, vanishing as fast as it came.

_Where is your trademark smirk now, asshole?_, she thought merrily as she walked out of the courtroom, weeping copiously against her stained handkerchief and getting sympathetic looks from everyone around her.

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_This is _not _good_, the Boy Who Lived thought as he watched yet another joke for a witness testify against his childhood nemesis. So far Colin Creevey, Dean Thomas, May Whitters, the Malfoy's former caretaker, and Dobby the house-elf had taken turns in telling their opinions to the world about the blond. _Thank Merlin Hermione is in Paris for that Potions Conference! _Harry didn't even want to imagine what his best friend would have said if she had taken this opportunity to get back at the obnoxious Slytherin… No. That was unfair of him. It wasn't in Hermione's nature to kick somebody when they were down… even if that 'somebody' was Draco Malfoy –which was not something he could say about a certain redhead smirking merrily beside him-.

Still, what really impressed Harry was that Severus Snape, being Draco's counsellor, wasn't cross-examining any of the witnesses. What was going on there? Did the bloody bat want to have his godson sent to Azkaban Prison? Merlin knew Ralph Luton had played exactly the right cards! The audience had cried, laughed, thrown expletives to the blond… Draco Malfoy was actually losing his bloody hearing, and it wasn't supposed to be a trial in the first place! He would not only not get his inheritance; he would be locked in a cell to rot! The way things were going, Draco only had one chance to save his neck, and it would be during his own testimony. He would have to convince everyone in the audience and at the presidium that he had never become a Death Eater, but after all that had been said, the possibilities of that happening were extremely remote. Harry would be testifying as the Auror in charge of the pertinent investigations regarding the Slytherin's case, granted, but by the tinge of things it wouldn't matter if the blond showed his right forearm to the courtroom; everybody had pretty much made up their minds about him anyway.

_Gods, Draco! Where have you gotten yourself into?_

_Oh… wait! What did I just say? Draco? When did bloody Malfoy become _'Draco'

The Golden Boy brushed a lock of jet-black hair from his eyes. At the witness box, Dobby kept going on and on about how Draco used to practice _Incendio_ and other cruel charms on him. Harry Potter couldn't take his eyes off of the blond Slytherin, and it was something that was certainly very unsettling. What he had felt when he saw the obnoxious brat entering the courtroom had scared him out of his wits; not only because he shouldn't be feeling those things for his 'archenemy'. Dra… _Malfoy_ was a guy, for Merlin's sake! How could he feel so attracted to a man? Were those dreams he had been having doing this to him? Why had he felt that force pulling him to the blond? What about _Ginny_? What about their upcoming marriage? For Merlin's teeth! He had had to cling to every ounce of self-control not to run straight towards the guy and shag him senseless right there and then in the courtroom!

_Oh… wait a minute! What have I just said? _Shag _him?_

_Gods! I'm seriously out of my mind!_

Harry didn't understand why, but he could read each and every one of the well-hidden emotions that crossed the blonde's features. It was like Draco's face was an open book to him, even when to everyone else around them, the blank expression on the wizard's face revealed just that; emptiness, an emotional vacuum. He knew how scared and angry the Slytherin was, and he couldn't prevent the wave of dread running through him. He was truly concerned about Malfoy's destiny, and he wasn't sure he could blame it all on Gryffindor nobility anymore.

"Harry! It's your turn! The prosecutor has called your name three times! Where were you, mate?"

"Uh… what?" Ron's voice cut right through his tumultuous thoughts, and he blinked a few times and looked around to realize that, indeed, he had been called to the witness box. He had been in space, thinking unthinkable thoughts –again_-_ that morning. And he had the Slytherin Prince sitting at the dock to blame.

Hopefully nobody had noticed he had been staring at the oblivious defendant all along.

Harry stood from his seat and walked towards the front of the court; his back squared under his Auror robes.

_In_, _out_, he told himself as he inhaled deeply a couple of times, utterly nervous due to his current state of mind and very aware of the thousands of pairs of eyes set on him. He passed the docks and reached the witness box.

And then, he felt it. A sudden fluttery sensation on the back of his neck; an invisible weight piercing him to the spot, overwhelming him with its intensity and sending uncontrollable shivers down his spine. _Gods, what's happening to me?_ He felt the pull again, he felt the lust. He felt he was being attracted by the magnetic field of a supernova imploding into a black hole. He turned around as he took his seat, his hands shaking unnoticeably and almost afraid to look up, and when he was finally facing the courtroom and its expectant silence, he _saw_ them... staring right back at him.

He saw those eyes that shone with the tinge of a thunderstorm gathering in the horizon. Eyes like fused silver, like mercury, like unicorn blood; cold like the coldest of oceans but still completely pure. Eyes that were unbelievably foreign, but completely open, somehow. Eyes that were lighting the path to some uncharted destination, to some unspeakable place… to perdition.

Harry James Potter knew, in that exact moment, that he was forever lost.

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	4. How Thick Can You Get?

**Author: **Etherea.

**Rating: T – PG-13 **(Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Don't sue. I'm knutless. Er.. is that even a word?

**Author Note:** At last, a _brand_ new chapter… But first, to keep on with the tradition:

_Forgive me, lords, if I'm annoying;_

_My eagerness can't help but showing._

_At last, not least, a brand new chapter:_

_One that survived the ire o' the Webmaster!_

_So if you read and read, and indeed you like…_

_Don't flinch and leave your comments behind!_

He he! ºGrinsº

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter Three**

How Thick Can You Get?

_Will the circus act ever end?_ the Potions Master thought as he tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose, the only sign of his galloping irritation. A couple of hours had passed since the interrogations had started, and apart from the sporadic 'objections' coming from the sulky professor whenever the overexcited prosecutor took his self-imposed role of righteous avenger too far, he hadn't participated in the examinations at all; which was quite shocking knowing Severus Snape's lack of patience for self-absorbed morons and his overprotective sentiments towards his godson.

Severus truly loved and cared for Draco, which was something most people would find rather unbelievable, being so caught up in the obscure, insensible persona he had always portrayed to the world. In fact, the Potions Master liked to indulge in the idea of being the only true father figure Draco had ever had in his life. Lucius had been the one to impregnate the blonde's mother, granted, and the despicable lapdog had been the one to shape the first and most impressionable years of the Slytherin's existence; but Severus knew he had been the one who had had major input in the final sculpting of the fine young man sitting by his side, and the final results could only make him proud. Draco had beaten the odds the Wizarding World had stacked against him since the day he was born, which was very Slytherinish of him, in the Potions Master's opinion.

Whatever conclusion anybody could draw from his actions –or lack thereof, to be more accurate-, would probably revolve around him not giving a damn about his young charge's future, taking into consideration the apparent triumph of Mr. Luton. Those couldn't be further from the truth though, and the answer was quite simple: if there was something a double agent needed to know to survive in such a dangerous line of work, it was when to move and take matters into one's hands, and when to step back and let things fall into place by themselves. And in this case the best approach was, to everyone's tangible bewilderment, the latter.

Still, Severus had noticed the glint of betrayal flashing in his godson's eyes when he refused to cross-examine that poor excuse of a witch Pansy Parkinson and he couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse; but it was all part of his carefully conceived strategy. Severus needed those accusations, those truths to come forward and smack Draco in the face. It was the only way to penetrate Draco's barricade, his artfully crafted façade. He needed his godson to break, no matter how cruel and ruthless that sounded, because breaking through Draco's pride was what would save his life.

Yes. Draco's life wasn't in Severus' hands; it was in his own. The only way out of this mess would be for him to step on his pride, and confess his –ironically enough- good deeds, which was exactly what Severus was trying to achieve by putting him against the wall like this. He knew his godson very well, and he knew Draco would eventually make a mistake, so obstinate on continuing the farce he had lived in all his life, on perpetuating the Malfoy-Are-All-Devious-Gits myth as the blond was. Draco was still an arrogant, sometimes even a very irritating young man, but he wasn't his father. They might be incredibly alike physically, but –thank the powers that be- Draco was his own person. He'd understand and do what is best for him… eventually. The blond had said he was tired of playing games. _Well_, the Potions Master thought, _he may be tired of playing games… but that doesn't mean he still isn't playing_. Hopefully, he'd be the winner by the end of the day.

That is, of course, if Severus' hypotheses were correct.

The dark-haired wizard chanced a glance at his godson, who was looking intently at the house-elf sitting in the witness box with a pensive expression on his face, as if machinating one particularly cunning, devious plan.

"Do you think Dobby would forget the broom issue if we arrange a date with Dixie for him? Such bitterness is surely related to sexual deprivation. I highly doubt he's getting any in the kitchens of Hogwarts…" Draco trailed off, sighing dramatically and taking Severus completely by surprise. "Poor, disgraced creature. Have you seen that hideous elf, Winky? No wonder he's so wound-up," the younger Slytherin said with the air of someone who had just had a divine revelation. To the Potions Master's chagrin, all he could do was to blink repeatedly, aghast. In many ways, Draco was still a child; it was just like him to come up with something _that_ superfluous at a time like this. Then again, the Potions Master knew that was the only defence the blond had: shameless condescension. He merely shook his head at him, as if resigned, but inwardly he relieved that Draco wasn't giving him the ice treatment for what the blond no doubt considered treason.

"Do you think Dixie would agree to that?" Severus asked, raising a mocking eyebrow. "I thought you said she was rather taken with me…"

"Shush! I'm trying to pay attention to this business. Don't put such images into my greatly imaginative mind or I will have to vomit all over the place, and I don't want to have that particular picture circulating in the evening paper. You're my councillor. You're supposed to work to take care of my public image for me," Draco said in an off-hand manner, but Severus understood the veiled message. He stared at the blond for some time, weighing his gestures and posture. Draco was sitting casually but gracefully in his chair, his hands held regally over the desk, his platinum hair impeccably framing his beautiful features, and he had that half-interested look on his face he knew the blond usually reserved for important yet extremely boring events he had to submit himself to. It struck him once more to realise that if Draco was scared, he wasn't letting his apprehension show in the least.

_Always the Slytherin_.

The witnesses' examinations concluded, and it was time for the 'expert witness' to testify, who –predictably– was Harry Potter, the Auror in charge of the 'enquiries'. Severus wondered what the so-called hero's impression of Draco was now. Even when the Potions Master had had to put up with the obnoxious Gryffindor during the war, he had gotten to know him a little bit more –not out of free will, that was for certain-. He still saw the green-eyed youth as a needy, whiny boy with insecurity issues; but he knew Harry Potter wouldn't lie to get rid of his former childhood enemy. That sense of righteousness was – most probably- the only thing the young man had inherited from his mother; that and those haunting emerald eyes.

"Finally, his royal highness lowers himself and agrees to grace us with his presence," Severus Snape drawled when he noticed the night-haired wizard walking towards the box between crazed fans and blinding flashes after repeatedly ignoring the Wizengamot warlock's calls. _How typical of the boy._ Severus turned to assess the situation with his godson, but remained quiet when he noticed Draco's gaze following Potter's back towards the box; his mercury eyes gleaming with ancient hatred.

_Oh well, this rivalry seems to be another thing that hasn't changed one bit_, the Potions Master thought wearily as he resumed the pinching of his nose. _Let's hope they don't end up killing each other in front of everybody… not that that wouldn't be much better entertainment._

Of course, he didn't know what was going through his godson's mind.

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The blond Slytherin was itching to press his fingers to his temples, if just to mitigate the annoying pounding which was threatening to drive him mad, but he had to remain 'cool' and 'collected'; there would be no signs of weakness from Draco Malfoy today. The interrogations were not the only cause for his current state. He could place the perfidious traitor beside him, who was supposed to be his _godfather_, on the top of the list. _Right on top of the revolting journalists, the hideous audience, and the frigid bitch sitting at the presidium that simply can't save her pitiful glares for herself_, the blond thought. In that moment, Draco coursed the fact that Severus was such a brilliant Potions Master. He wouldn't be able to slip some untraceable poison in his tea; the bastard would probably recognise the brew had been adulterated the second he smelled it.

_There are other effective methods_, Draco thought, _like stabbing him in his sleep…_

He turned to his godfather and told him some inconsequential comment about Dobby the House Elf's love life. As if he truly gave a damn.

_Yes, let the treacherous bastard think everything is alright and I'm not carefully planning his untimely demise_. _The surprise factor is highly important when conceiving revenge_, Draco sneered to himself.

He knew what his godfather was trying to do, and that was the main reason why he was so upset. Draco didn't care about the fact that Severus wasn't cross-examining the witnesses. Yes, he had been a little… _shocked_ about it after Pansy's examination, but he was smart enough to see that there was, in fact, little the older wizard could do about it. All the tales were true, to be honest. And trying to persuade the audience against it would be quite futile... not after Luton's clever strategy. Draco had to give some credit to the disgusting prosecutor. What he was doing, bringing in old childhood rivals, upset former-employees, obsessed ex-lovers… it was quite Slytherinish of him, actually. But it wasn't Luton and his stupid witnesses or Severus' performance that was bothering him; not in the least. What was pushing all his buttons was the fact that his godfather was willingly putting him in a place where the only way out would be for him to confess his collaboration with the Order of the Phoenix and that was, Merlin's teeth, what was sending him over the edge.

"The prosecution wishes to call our expert witness, Auror Harry Potter, head of the Investigation Squad involved in Mr. Malfoy's case."

_Oh, right… The stupid, attention-seeking, moronic, scar-headed, infuriating…_

Draco's face was set in a deep scowl. Precious, perfect Harry Potter, the bane of his existence, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-His-Life-Completely-Miserable, was now walking as if he owned the whole bloody world towards the witness box. Of course, the man had to put on airs before he allowed himself to take part of such mundane events; he had to make sure every single person in the bloody tribunal had their eyes set on him before he made his grand appearance, didn't he? Draco knew Harry Potter was just savouring this moment, engraving the most insignificant detail in his mind for the later retelling to his children: "The day I finally kicked Draco Malfoy's arse." _Bastard._

It had been three years since Draco had last seen the idiotic hero, but he could still feel the all-too-familiar hatred for him. It was an acquired habit of sorts Draco just couldn't get rid off, even when he knew that it would make his life easier. Call him a masochist, call him pathetic, but it just caused Draco's nostrils to flare and his eyes to narrow with loathing that Harry Potter had actually gotten everything the sod wanted in his life, whilst Draco, who had had all the odds for a wonderful, fulfilling life, was now sitting in a courtroom, waiting for the final decision that would rip his life apart. Oh, yes! Draco had heard the news, alright. Harry Potter, the golden boy of the Wizarding World, the boy who had fulfilled the prophecy, who had the fame of a king and the respect of the Magical Community, who had a flourishing career as an Auror, who was engaged to 'sweetheart' Ginevra Weasley… the same megalomaniac sod Draco couldn't help but wish was cut into tiny pieces and fed to a raving pack of werewolves.

Harry Potter had been the cause of all his troubles. If it hadn't been for him and his stupid entourage, Draco wouldn't be attending this hearing in the first place… well, maybe his father had also had quite a bit of accountability in the matter, but that was highly irrelevant at the moment. If it wasn't for Harry Potter and his stupid Order, Severus wouldn't have had to become a double agent, which would have translated to Draco not having to help his godfather. If it wasn't for his stupid position as an informant during the war, he wouldn't have had irate Death Eaters after him; therefore he wouldn't have had to leave his mother when she needed him the most, when she was…

His mother had died _alone_, and Draco just couldn't forgive Harry Potter for that. It was his entire fault. The loss of his family, of his possessions, of his _life_… It was all Harry Potter's fault.

The raven-haired Auror reached the witness box. Draco's eyes had followed his every move since he had noticed him walking towards the bench, stopping here and there to shake some hands. He had observed each and every one of the hero's gestures, noticing the guarded pose, the stiffness of his back, the tightly-closed fists. _Yeah, right. Act like you're not enjoying the attention,_ Draco thought; his voice seething inside his head. There. The proclaimed Hero was turning, reaching his seat at the box. The time to face his life-long archenemy had come, and Draco's heart quickened in some sort of wicked excitement. He wanted to face Harry Potter, to let him know that he was not scared, that no matter the conclusion of that day, Harry Potter would never, _ever_ see Draco Lucius Malfoy down. Draco's narrowed eyes stared as Potter fumbled with his hands for a second before looking up, almost cautiously, revealing hesitant eyes of jade framed by rebellious locks of jet-black hair…

Mercury eyes locked with pools of forest green that were hidden behind hideous spectacles, and all of the sudden, the world began to spin out of control. The blond couldn't look away; he couldn't blink, he couldn't speak. He was suddenly tied to the raven-haired man in front of him by invisible chains. Something snapped inside his head and a rush of images and sounds whirled in a seemingly endless parade before his mind's eye; echoes of places, people, and voices drilling holes through his psyche.

_Flash…_

_An obscured corridor._ _Stone walls. An arm placed around his waist. Cheeks tinged with crimson fervour. A smile. _

"_Come here… I missed you so much!" _

_An eternal kiss. A long intake of breath. Quickened heartbeats. Mouths caressing each other with unleashed devotion. Hands running over familiar paths of warm flesh. A moan. Surrender… _

_Flash…_

_A nightly sky._ _A thousand stars falling over. A naked body weighing tenderly on him. A whisper. _

"_I love you."_

_A cool breeze caressing his skin._ _Soft moans invading the air. The smell of roses in bloom. Abandon... _

_Flash…_

_The sweetest of kisses._ _A suppressed sob. A tear running down his cheek. Hands entwined in his, demanding. _

"_Look at me! Nobody else matters. _Nothing _else matters. We'll make it. Please, don't you ever doubt that!"_

_Polished jade shining in the dark._ _A quiet embrace. A lingering kiss. Another kiss. And another. And another... _

_Flash…_

_Bright light._ _Red light. Fear. A scream. _

"_What are you doing! Draco! No!"_

_Pain._ _Chaos. Darkness. Emptiness… _

_Nothingness._

In an instant, the strange images that had stampeded into his consciousness dissipated like a handful of dust in the wind. Draco gasped into reality, feeling as if he had woken up from a nightmare, even when he knew he hadn't fallen asleep at all. His eyes were wide open, and confusion was piercing its way through him, leaving icy-cold numbness in its wake. His heart was throbbing inside his ribcage, bewildered. His throat had turned into a sandbank, and it seemed like the air around him didn't carry the required levels of oxygen to be able to breathe. There was a terrible sense of _wrongness_ filling every cell of his being. He knew something was completely amiss, and it felt like a red light bulb flashing incessantly through the deep fog of trepidation imbibing his brain, but for the life of him, he couldn't grasp what it was. He felt he _had_ to know, he _had_ to understand. But, understand what?

"Draco, are you alright?" Severus' voice cut right through his catatonic state. He turned to look at his godfather's face -feeling like it took him years to do so- his pupils widening and narrowing in search of focus. He finally blinked a few times and noticed that he was still sitting at the dock in the courtroom; people gossiping and murmuring around him. The onyx gaze he had in front of him wasn't the jade abyss he had been submerged in a couple of seconds ago, or had it been minutes? Hours? Centuries? He didn't know. At the witness box, Ralph Luton had already started his questioning, and Draco looked up at the scene then turned to his godfather, feeling extremely sick all of the sudden.

"I… I need to get out… I need some fresh air," he said, his voice breaking. Severus noticed the dots of perspiration on his brow and the greenish tinge of his face. He understood that whatever happened to his godson, it had something to do with the Auror at the witness box; the incredulous, almost scared expression on the obnoxious Gryffindor's face was proof of that. Unexpectedly, the craziest of thoughts flashed through his mind...

_It couldn't be… It can't be possible… can it?_

The Potions Master looked from the contorted, almost pained face of his godson to the man at the witness box visibly fighting to move his eyes from the Slytherin whilst answering the prosecutor's questions, then back again. His blank mask revealed nothing. He just stood up from his chair -interrupting Luton's elaborated reasoning with the action and eliciting sounds of confusion and excitement from the audience- and locked his fierce gaze with that of Harry Potter before turning to the Wizengamot's Chief Wizard.

"Your honour, may I ask for a brief break in the procedures? My charge is not feeling well at the moment." The old wizard at the presidium -who was in need of a break himself- glanced at the plainly indisposed countenance of the defendant, and ignoring the indignant looks and retorts coming from the prosecutor and the explosion of appalled expletives from the audience, hit the gavel once on the table.

"Petition granted. This court will adjourn for fifteen minutes." With that, the old wizard stood from the chair and turned to leave, followed by the other two wizards and the snotty witch. Draco didn't wait for his godfather. He jumped from the chair –almost knocking it down in the process- and escaped as gracefully as his current state would allow him out of the courtroom through the main doors, flashes of cameras and questioning faces all around, leaving a very irate prosecutor, a very confused Auror, and a very meditative Potions Master behind him.

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Draco didn't know how he had found the public lavatories on the third floor. He had followed some distant memory of past visits, moving by inertia as his eyes searched frantically all around him, shunning journalists and other inconsequential people assailing him with questions and scathing comments. He had run towards the men's restroom after he had spotted it down a small corridor -a right turn from the main hallway- and banged the door open once he had reached it.

He rushed towards the first cubicle, getting there just in time before the nausea took over completely and he found himself collapsing in front of the porcelain toilet, retching like a maniac and shivering like a dry leaf in the wind. He didn't even have time to look at his surroundings. His head felt as if a mountain troll was pounding relentlessly on it as his whole body shook with shivers and… sobs. He was crying. Awfully.

_Gods_! He felt so… sad, and angry, and… just plain miserable! He didn't know; he couldn't think of a reason why, but there was an awful pain crushing his chest, tearing him in two; making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone think clearly. He looked at his hands; they were shaking awfully and… Oh Gods! His _face_! Long, bitter tears were rolling down his cheeks and over his quivering lips, unleashed, and his eyes stung with the ones he was desperately trying to hold back. He could feel wave after wave of pain, deception, despair, and… heartache. His heart was breaking; that was what this felt like: as if his heart was being shattered into tiny pieces, each one of them scratching his mind and soul like little splinters of cold pain and deception.

_Sweet Athena, what's happening to me?_

He remained there, sprawled on the ground, for what appeared to be a very long time; breathing in gasps and clutching the toilet as if it were a lifeline; praying to some deity for mercy, for any of them to take him out of this misery. The nausea had subsided somewhat and he didn't feel like throwing his guts out anymore, but his whole body still ached as if he had been rolled over repeatedly by the Knight Bus, and the awful pain in his chest had somehow turned into a dull, deep, aching emptiness. Exhaling deeply, he let himself relax and find his normal breathing pattern again; his eyes closed as he concentrated in the soft beating of his heart.

"Malfoy… are you alright?" a hesitant yet concerned voice said from somewhere behind him, and Draco's eyes snapped open the instant he recognized it. A surge of overwhelming sorrow and pain washed over him again, but he pushed it back to wherever it had come from, held his face up with as much confidence as he could giving the humiliating circumstances, and narrowed his stormy-grey eyes at the infuriating raven-haired man standing in front of him with a worried expression on his face.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he spat venomously, noticing with some trepidation the hurt flashing across the Golden Boy's eyes, gone as fast as it had come. The emerald eyes suddenly narrowed with something akin to contempt, and Draco somehow felt incredibly better with the change.

"I was sent to find you, Malfoy. If you don't remember, you're in the middle of an official hearing; you just can't disappear when it's not even concluded. I've been ordered to escort you back to the courtroom…" he looked Draco up and down, and the blond couldn't help but feel very uncomfortable, "but I think you better clean yourself up before you step foot out of this bathroom. There are journalists outside," the raven-haired Auror said sternly, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes shining with an emotion Draco couldn't quite decipher... yet.

"And why do you care, exactly?" the blond snapped, feeling victorious at the discomfiture flashing across the brunette's face. He sneered contemptuously. "Don't you worry, _Potter_. I won't run away, if that's what you think I'm planning to do."

"I wouldn't put that past you, _Malfoy_," Harry replied evenly.

Draco just glared at him as he stood up with some difficulty -trying with all his might to hide the shivers caused by Harry's eyes on him-, waved his wand over himself and the small mess he had created, and walked straight-backed towards the sink counter. He turned the taps on and splashed water on his face, completely aware of the emerald eyes watching his every move, and feeling some strange churning in the pit of his stomach, as if he had eaten a pixie which happened to be alive. Having the hero in so close proximity seemed to be triggering all the alien emotions that had coursed through him moments ago, and it was then, when he looked up to the mirror and found the somewhat embarrassed, yet distinctly glazed emerald eyes of Harry Potter, that something inside his brain snapped and all the pieces fell into place.

Suddenly, things made awful sense...

He narrowed his eyes in cold loathing just before turning swiftly in Potter's direction, pushing him hard against the bathroom wall; one hand clutching his robe collard just as the other held his wand against the brunette's throat; faces merely inches apart.

"Tell me what you did or I'll hex you all the way back to Hades!" Draco hissed menacingly; his eyes cold, hard, ominous.

Harry, who had been taken completely by surprise by the Slytherin's actions, looked up confusedly at him; his jade eyes round like saucers in his disbelief. Draco's immediacy was making his body react in ways he never thought possible; which was very mortifying, to say the least. He didn't understand what was happening to him. He wasn't supposed to feel attracted to a man, let alone Draco bloody Malfoy, damn it! His unexpected weakness was very real to him, and if there was one thing Harry Potter hated the most in the whole world, it was it: weakness. Somehow, common sense seemed to make itself shown –albeit feebly- on his mind and his anger flared, fuelled by his colliding, confusing emotions.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy? Have you lost your mind?" he snapped with as much venom as he could muster. Draco looked even murderous at this. The blond suddenly shifted his weight on the brunette as he turned to tighten his hold on Harry's collar, and Harry's newfound resolution and indignation left him as an endless electrical impulse ran up and down his spine. It was then that he finally noticed. It was then that he truly caught up with what was actually happening: Draco's face and body were very -Gods, and he meant _very_- close to him. He could feel the blonde's warm breath tickling his lips and nose. He could smell the Slytherin's unique scent; a subtle mix of sandalwood and tangerine invading his nostrils. He could feel the enticing heat radiating from him in waves. All of the sudden, he couldn't think. He couldn't help but long for more. It was irresistible; it was intoxicating! To top it all, Draco just kept looking at him with those unfathomable grey eyes shining with a mix of anger and… confusion? Fear? Harry didn't know what exactly. All he knew was that he had to do something, _anything_! Was it to push him away and punch him? Was it to reach for his wand and hex him? Was it to lean in and kiss him?

_Gods! I'm the one who's lost his mind!_

"Don't you dare take me for a fool, Potter!" Draco hissed as he pushed Harry even harder against the wall, oblivious to the other man's turmoil. Harry didn't even wince. The brunette merely kept staring at him, waiting. Expecting.

_Defying him?_ Draco couldn't take it any more.

"Finish it. NOW!" the blond roared, nostrils flaring. He wanted to hurt the man currently pressed against him so hard it actually hurt _him_. The myriad of sensations running through him were making him light-headed, and his whole being was demanding for him to do something: Punch him, hex him, kill him… just _touch_ him! The horrible pain in his chest was intensifying with every breath he shared with the Gryffindor, with every heartbeat resounding in his ears. It was excruciating; it was unbearable! And worst, he hated the fact that Harry Potter wasn't doing anything to defend himself. Did he believe Draco incapable of doing something against him, of hurting him? Did he think that Draco wasn't a match for him? Did he truly believe that Draco Malfoy was _stupid_?

He knew the offending Gryffindor had hexed him somehow back in that courtroom. To Hell with whatever it was he was feeling. To Hell with the consequences if he hexed the Golden Boy to oblivion for playing with him. In that very moment, it hit him with the force of a tidal wave; all of the irrational anger, all of the inexplicable pain; all of the unwelcome sorrow rushed through him with blinding certainty: Harry Potter had hurt him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let the Gryffindor get away with it. Nothing else mattered.

Draco's features were set in a resolute, nearly predatory smirk. Harry looked at the blond with emerald eyes shining with complete bewilderment, and Draco knew he had realised what Draco was thinking. The blond pressed the wand firmly against Harry's chest, narrowed his eyes of fused silver with wicked hatred, and leaned against the Gryffindor…

"Draco, _stop_!"

Banging the door open, in came a flustered, irate-looking Severus Snape.

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TBC…


	5. Saved By The Old Coot

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** **T – PG-13** (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Don't sue.

**Author Note:** Thanks so, so much to Enchant for Beta-ing this chapter after my many whims and changes. You're the best, Sweet!

**Another Author Note:** Sorry for the lateness, everybody, and **thanks so much** for your reviews! This chapter proved to be nearly impossible to write; what with Book 6 coming out and the consequent blow to my heart (I remain hopeful, though!) On this note, I want to warn you all that, from now on, this story is even more AU than it could possibly have been. ED has had a year on the making, and it has been thought out this way since then, so hopefully you guys will be tolerant about this: **Ethereal** **Desire won't change to fit the new cannon**, **but will continue to evolve within its own universe.** With that said, I would also like to dedicate this chapter to "the Greatest Wizard of the Age" and to the "Half-Blood Prince". No matter what JK says or plans, they were both my favorites (besides my two beautiful boy toys, of course) and they will always be.

**Draco:** Harry, you realize our relationship is now cannon, love? You're now officially _obsessed_ with me! Ether thinks it's just wonderful! ºAdopts innocent look and bats eyelashes at his boyfriendº

**Harry:** ºScowlsº Don't get too happy, you brat! It was just a plot device from JK. ºBlinks repeatedlyº And I'm not obsessed with him! ºGlares at Etherea, who is now trying to look as inconspicuous as she can, typing slash scenes at her computer. She fails miserably and starts chuckling at Harry's affronted expressionº

**Harry:** Ether! Stop that! Stop encouraging him!

**Etherea:** What? I'm not doing anything! ºPoutsº And he's right, you know. Now I can write as many slash fics as I want; what with you being obsessed with Draco and all... ºWinks at Draco, who winks back -smiling devilishly- without paying much attention to his boyfriend's outrageº

**Harry:** I. Am. Not. Obsessed. With. Draco! ºHisses, glaring at the two friends laughing in his faceº

**Draco:** ºSighs as if resignedº Yes, love; whatever you say. Just remind me that next time you start screaming my name, begging me to keep doing that thing with my tongue you love all over your...

**Harry:** _Draco_!

**Draco:** I rest my case. ºSmirks smuglyº

**Etherea:** Boys... ºShakes her head, amused, and resumes her writingº

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter Four**

Saved By the Old Coot

Harry Potter never imagined he would ever be so glad to see the acidic man that was Severus Snape. This was _certainly_ one day full of surprises.

Disappointment: that was the main emotion Harry was feeling right at the moment. Dra… _Malfoy_, Harry realised, hadn't changed one bit. He was the same arrogant, hideous bastard he had known for most of his life; worse yet, the same man who hated him for no given reason, or at least that's what Harry thought. Three years. It had been _three_ _years_ since the last time they had laid eyes on each other, but somehow it felt longer than that. Still, why hadn't Malfoy gotten over that stupid enmity between them? For Merlin's beard, they were supposed to be _adults_ now, not eleven-years-old pranksters. They didn't lead antagonist crowds anymore. They were no longer captains of rival teams. They didn't have the weight of others' expectations on their backs any longer. Moreover, the war and its horrors were in the past, and even though the scars were still there, Harry would have thought all these years would have helped heal the wounds. Isn't that what Time is for, anyway? Doesn't it make you older, stronger, _wiser_?

Harry snorted to himself at his thought. Wiser. Now, that was one thing he was definitely _not_ being at the moment.

Perhaps it was because of the fact that he had wasted so much "time" thinking that his days were numbered that he found most things irrelevant nowadays. When you're merely a boy and you wake up every morning thinking that you could be facing the last day of your life, your priorities are bound to change. You start giving significance to things that _truly_ matter, not trivial issues like school rumours, the next Quidditch match, or trying to outwit the stupid git that is your school nemesis every time you cross each other's path in the corridors. Maybe Malfoy just viewed things differently. Maybe he was just the type of person who could hold a grudge for a decade; literally. Nevertheless, even when Harry didn't understand what was going on in Malfoy's mind, the murderous glare and the wand tip currently pressed against his chest were sending a clear message: Draco still loathed him, and with a vengeance.

Yes, he felt like quite the idiot at the moment. Here he was, trying his best to stop himself from jumping on the undeniably beautiful man in front of him, whilst it was rather obvious the Slytherin only felt tempted to slit his throat and dump his lifeless body in the Forbidden Forest. Figures it could only happen to him: to feel so incredibly attracted to the one man in the whole world who simply couldn't stand him. But what else could he have expected? What was it he wanted anyway? Would he have preferred to have Malfoy reciprocating whatever it was Harry was feeling towards him? Wouldn't that just make his life even more complicated? Wasn't it just _not_ worth it? There were other things, important things, in Harry's life now. Things that _truly_ mattered: his fiancé, for instance; the family that had taken him as one of their own; his career; his future... Hell! Hadn't he made a promise to himself just last night; that he wouldn't permit his stupid thoughts and dreams to take those things away from him? Well, Malfoy, and whatever Harry was feeling for him, were amongst the "Don't Even Think about It" list; right on top, actually.

However, Harry was trying desperately to forget the fact that he was still pinned against the tiled wall of a bathroom by his -armed- childhood archenemy and that he hadn't lifted a finger to remedy that, just as he was trying with all his might to forget that he didn't mind at all, that he didn't feel one bit threatened, that he was actually _enjoying _it; that Ginny, his career, and his future were the last things that mattered to him right now, and that it was all because of Draco's bottomless grey eyes, and Draco's tempting cerise lips, and Draco's firm, assertive touch all over him, and… well, just Draco in his entirety. He had nearly forgotten that he was not alone with the Slytherin anymore when a sound came from somewhere next to him and it brought him back to his senses, or what was left of them anyway.

Severus Snape stood by the now closed door of the bathroom; his onyx eyes appearing as mere slits of black and his thin mouth set in a jagged line of gritted teeth. There were a few dots of perspiration on his brow and over his upper lip, and his breathing was somewhat ragged, which betrayed the fact that he had run all the way there. The deadly glare didn't seem to have any recipient in particular, for it kept darting to each one of the two young men standing not five meters from the tip of his readied wand. Draco, to his merit, appeared quite blasé; his hold on the Gryffindor not loosening one inch; although he did seem a bit annoyed by the interruption.

"Draco, I said _step_ _back_," the Potions Master said in a low, warning voice. "You don't want me to make you do as I say."

Draco's eyes remained locked with the emerald gaze in front of him, not turning to address his godfather. "This is none of your concern, Severus. Potter and I are merely solving a disagreement." His voice was cold and unwavering, and he pushed closer against the Gryffindor - if that was even possible- to convey his point, his face set in his trademark scowl.

"Draco…" the Potions Master warned once more; his wand clutched tightly and steady in his hand.

"As I already said, Severus, don't bother yourself. You may leave us now." Draco's tone turned patronizing, and his godfather didn't seem to like the affront one bit.

"Step back, I said!" the Potions Master bellowed, and with it, a pale blue ray dashed from his wand, hitting Draco's with astounding aim and sending the wooden stick crashing against the wall. It fell onto the floor with a resounding clatter. The blonde's eyes widened with both surprise and anger. He released his hold on Harry with a harsh push and turned swiftly towards his godfather, visibly fuming.

Harry's shock at his former professor's actions made him ignore the intense bolt of pain he felt when his head made hard contact with the wall. If anything, he would have expected the obscure wizard to join his godson in the impromptu party. Not that he minded his sudden appearance, actually; even though he loathed admitting it, he doubted his self-control would have lasted much longer, and acting on his most basic –albeit completely unwelcome, honestly!- instincts would have surely warranted nothing short of Avada Kedavra from the incensed Slytherin; although it would have been absolutely worth it if at least it meant he had had one chance to taste those succulent, cherry lips of his…

_Oh, bloody Hell! That's it! I've lost it_, he growled to himself as he let himself slide onto the floor against the wall, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Malfoy's face was contorted with rage as he lashed out at his godfather, who merely looked at him with a devious, knowing smirk on his face. "Since when did you start defending this git? He _hexed_ me, goddamn it! I won't let him get away with it!" That particular word caused the emerald-eyed wizard to react. He jumped up from his spot on the floor, looking as miffed as he could manage.

"I did nothing of the sort!" he retorted heatedly. "What is the matter with you, Malfoy? Did you spend too much time in the Mediterranean sun? You are surely hallucinating!" Draco turned once again to the Gryffindor and Harry could have sworn there was smoke coming out of his ears; the blond seemed ready to knock him out with his bare hands. Severus Snape's pitch-black eyes darted from one wizard to the other, perplexed, before he spoke again.

"Stop it, both of you!" he spat, this time placing himself between the two raving wizards. His feral glare rested on the Gryffindor. "Potter, leave now before I regret saving that piteously wasted skull of yours," he said in that condescending, caustic tone he seemed to reserve especially for the raven-haired hero. Of course, even though the obscure wizard had given Harry the chance for the quiet exit he knew he _should_ have been wishing for the moment he saw Draco Malfoy broken and vulnerable on the bathroom floor, Harry couldn't bring himself to leave, and not only because it meant he would be doing the Potions Master's bidding; he was quite intrigued, now. What had Draco been talking about? _Hexed_ him? Harry knew he had to get to the bottom of it.

"I'm sorry, _Mr. Snape_, but I'm afraid that won't be possible," Harry said firmly, accentuating Severus' last name so the git would remember he was not his student anymore, and also because he was plain sick of the Potions Master's condescending attitude towards him. "As the Auror in charge of this case's investigations, I'm in charge of Mr. Malfoy's vigilance as well. You must understand that due to present circumstances I just can't allow him free reign. It would hardly be very professional of me," he added with a satisfied smile that could very well have been a smirk when he noticed Snape's darkening features. "Also, Mr. Malfoy here just attacked my person, a Ministry Officer. That alone is enough reason to put him behind bars," Harry finished matter-of-factly, trying to suppress his laughter. The look on Malfoy's face was enough for him to keep up the charade, Harry realized with a wave of satisfaction. The blond was totally livid; his otherwise impassive, patrician features were set in a contorted scowl of indignation, and the slight pink of his tanned complexion didn't hide the angered tinge on his cheeks and neck. Not mentioning, of course, that he kept opening and closing his mouth in complete outrage, seemingly lost for words; which was probably a first for the young Malfoy.

He looked absolutely ravishing.

"You... _you_..." Draco seethed as he glared poisoned daggers at the Gryffindor.

"I what, Malfoy?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest; a cheeky smile on his face. "_I'd _watch my mouth if I were you." Harry realized in that exact moment, when Draco's upper lip started quivering in his overruling wrath, how much he had missed this game of theirs; how much he had missed... well, yes; Draco Malfoy.

The blond was about to retort –and quite caustically for that matter- when Snape stepped in. "Pardon my godson's actions, Potter. You must understand that Mr. Malfoy is under a lot of... _stress_," he said, for once sidestepping his disgust for the wizard in favour of some –rather necessary- diplomacy and trying to silence his godson's undoubtedly immaterial comments with a quick glare in his direction. "I completely understand your distrust, but I assure you, your extra precautions won't be necessary. I hold myself responsible for any unwanted situation should there be any, which I highly doubt. Now, if you'll excuse us," the Potions Master took a step forward towards Harry, his face set in a hard scowl and his wand pointing at the door, "but I need to discuss some matters with my godson. Surely a defendant is allowed some privacy with his counsellor?"

Harry didn't appreciate the dark wizard's intimidating tactics one bit, so he stood straighter, facing the now too-close-for-his-comfort Potions Master confidently.

"You're quite right, Mr. Snape, but your godson just accused me of hexing him. He's claiming a serious offence; the fact that I'm an Auror only makes it even more serious, and I simply refuse to leave until he explains the grounds on which he is basing his accusations."

"How typical of you," the blond spat viciously all of the sudden, ignoring his godfather's poisonous glare, "to use your position as leverage. Is that how you get everything you want, Potter? Using the pitiful slack of power and fame you have to sidestep your responsibilities and the accountability of your actions?"

_Now, _that _was low_, Harry thought as his anger flared. No, _that_ was rich coming from the same lad who led the Inquisitorial Squad in fifth year! Did Malfoy just _hint_ he was a despot? When, for Merlin's beard, had he abused his position for his own gain? Never! Not once, not ever! How could he say something like that? How... how... how _dared_ he?

"You will take that back, Malfoy," Harry said lowly as his wand also appeared from his robe pocket and was held firmly in front of him. The blond just smirked maliciously.

"Did I just hit a nerve, Potter? You know what they say: If the cap fits..." Draco's sentence and whatever retort Harry was planning to make were cut short by Severus' roar.

"Enough is _enough_! Draco, _do_ shut up!" he said, directing his godson with a petrifying look that nearly smacked him backwards before turning to a somewhat gobsmacked Harry Potter. "And you better lower that wand and get out of this bathroom this instant, Potter, or I'll be more than pleased to file a complaint on your unwarranted behaviour to your Head of Department!" Snape's black eyes weighed down on him, but he stood his ground firmly.

"You can file all the complaints you want, Snape. For all I know, I was just doing my job when Malfoy attacked me for no given reason, and not only that, but he also made unfounded allegations against me," he seethed.

"Then remind me when it was _appointed_ to you to follow my charge and invade his privacy. If I'm not mistaken, that's called harassment," the Potions Master said lowly; his voice in the subzero spectrum and his face set in a knowing smirk.

Harry blinked repeatedly, feeling his bravado deflate like a pinched balloon as cold lightning ran across his stomach.

Surely Snape wouldn't say he had come looking for Draco without orders? Surely he wouldn't expose him like that?

_Damn the bastard!_

"Well, Potter?" Severus prompted, and noticing the hesitation in Harry's eyes he was unable to suppress a wide, twisted smile of triumph. That'd teach the insolent fool not to cross him.

"You have five minutes," Harry finally said, seething, after a short, defiant silence before pocketing his wand and walking straight-backed to the door. He waited until Snape removed the locking and silencing charms he had placed, and then opened it slowly, mindful of the group of reporters standing outside. The sight of the fevered flashes and the assault of questions made his stomach do an unpleasant turn. As he stepped carefully outside and heard some of the journalists' comments –which were all along the lines of 'Draco Malfoy and the Boy-Who-Lived: locked together in a bathroom', he closed the door swiftly behind him and started down the crowded hallway, not smiling at the cameras and not responding to the devious questions, but wondering how the hell he was going to explain all of this to Ginny once she read the evening paper.

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"What in Hades' name was that all about? Why did you take it out on me?"

Draco lashed at his godfather the moment he saw the door closing behind Harry Potter. Severus was busy placing new charms, and by the look on his face he was not... pleased. He turned to his godson after he had finished; wand stored and arms crossed.

"You nearly attacked Harry Potter, who was unarmed, whilst in the middle of judicial procedures. I thought you were a clever man." Draco gave his godfather his most infamous scowl.

"So I can't even defend myself, now? He was the one who did something wrong!" he yelled, outraged.

"I don't see why you would have fallen for it," Severus drawled. "Like I said, I thought you were a clever man."

"If I _nearly_ hexed him –thanks to you- it's because he did it first! He cursed me somehow! I don't know exactly what hex he used; it was... well, _is_ some sort of emotion-mixer, but I'm sure I can figure it out. I could go to St. Mungo's and have the personnel do some tests, confirm it. I won't let Harry Potter get away with this! He's done enough, and I'm fucking tired of him always screwing up my life! I don't give a damn if he is the bloody saviour of the Wizarding World! I'll make him pay for this! I will..."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Severus cut in, his onyx eyes narrowed. "If there's any curse inflicted upon you it is the curse of voluntary stupidity, apparently," the older wizard sneered. He leaned casually against the sink counter. "What is it you say you _felt_?"

The blond merely looked at him, his face set in an astonished grimace.

"I don't think that's any of your business, if you are so reluctant to believe me," Draco said at last, crossing his arms in a dignified manner and leaning against the same wall he had Potter cornered against moments ago. Severus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and sigh in irritation.

"I'm not saying that I don't believe you. I just want to know what could have possibly happened to make you think you were hexed," he said between clenched teeth. Draco looked uncertain for a second, but relented to his own curiosity. He didn't understand what had happened to him, so maybe the two-faced bastard he had for a godfather could enlighten him.

Oh, yes. If he had been mad at Severus Snape before, now he was furious!

"I... really don't know," he started; cantankerous and not minding that he was showing his full annoyance. "I just... looked at him and suddenly I started feeling all of these... emotions or something, and then I had these visions..."

"_Visions_?" his godfather asked, appearing to be quite intrigued. "What did you see?"

"Well," the blond blushed and nearly lowered his gaze. "I don't know. They _were_ like visions, but they weren't real. I mean, I surely don't think I'll ever be as fucked-up in the head enough to kiss Potter!" Severus stared at him with unreadable eyes, which made him feel somewhat uneasy. Draco couldn't help but hate his godfather's enigmatic nature sometimes; not when he knew that it was something related to him which was shrouded in mystery.

"What about those emotions you mentioned?" Severus asked. It seemed his irritation had abated somewhat. Draco wanted to punch the wall. What was it with all these questions? Hadn't he made it all clear already?

"I don't know!" he said, exasperated. "I just started feeling this… sadness; it was complete misery! I felt like I had been hurt. Emotionally hurt. And when I was having those... visions, I felt... well, I felt everything, as if I was really experiencing them," he finished lamely, put out by his sudden lack of eloquence.

"And you're absolutely, positively sure it happened the instant you saw Harry Potter?" Severus asked; that strange, pensive expression still plastered on his pale face.

"Have _you_ been listening to me! I told you, it was Harry Potter! Why else would I be having visions of _him_, of all people? He was the one who hexed me!"

Draco was completely taken aback when he stopped his rambling to notice that his godfather had started chuckling. Chuckling, for Salazar's beard!

"Are you mocking me?" Draco hissed, fists closed at his sides, mercury eyes narrowed into mere slits, and blond locks falling over his face. Severus looked at his godson's 'intimidating' pose and merely shook his head, looking for all he was worth as if he was having a great time at his godson's expense. Draco was about to snap something very offensive, no doubt, when his godfather rose a hand for silence.

"Why would Harry Potter hex you, Draco?" The blond seethed.

"Because he hates me? Because he has always hated me? Why would I know, anyway? How can I know what's going on in that twisted, scarred head of his!" The moment those words left his lips, he suddenly remembered noticing that Potter didn't have a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead anymore… but that was highly irrelevant. Severus chuckled softly once more.

"And apparently, _you_ are not using that pretty head of yours," he said with a patronizing smile.

Draco stared at him, mouth agape, as if he had just been hit.

Of all the cheek in the world!

"And now you're calling me thick?" he snapped; his frozen eyes locked with those of his godfather.

"I never said you were, nor have I ever thought so, but I might start believing otherwise for you're certainly acting as thick as you could possibly be," Severus retorted superciliously. "You're not putting matters in perspective; you're not looking from the right angles. I thought that was one of your finer traits?" he added with a raised eyebrow.

What the hell was he talking about!

"I'm not completely sure I understand what you're saying, Severus. My hypotheses are confirmed: Senility _has_ finally caught up with you," Draco said icily. His godfather laughed, ignoring the cheeky remark, which only aggravated Draco even more. If there was one thing he hated the most in the whole world, it was being treated like a helpless, foolish child, and somehow his godfather had the annoying tendency to do just that whenever he could.

"No, Draco. It's you who isn't acting sensibly, but I guess it's understandable," he said, and Draco noticed a spark of amusement shining in his black eyes. It puzzled Draco no end.

"You'll see it in its due time; when you're ready to face the truth." He moved towards the door under Draco's perplexed glare and started removing the charms without another word.

"What truth?" the blond asked between grit teeth, mostly out of habit, as a strange, tickling sensation in his stomach started spreading up his spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Severus looked at him, smirking.

"The truth you've been waiting for all this time, Draco. The truth that will change your life forever... if it hasn't already," he said cryptically, his pale face now stern.

Severus was about to say something else, but seemed to changed his mind. Instead, he adopted his trademark snarling expression and said in a disgusted tone, "I will take care of those damn reporters. You wait here a moment until I signal the way is cleared." With that, he opened the door and stepped outside; a sudden burst of flashes and movement greeting him just as he closed the door behind him.

Draco found himself alone in the bathroom, feeling claustrophobic all of the sudden. Cold dread running freely through him, he stared in disbelief at the closed door, for once utterly quiet.

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Ron Weasley glared at his best friend and soon-to-be brother in law as the raven-haired wizard finally took his seat next to him after his rather unorthodox intervention at the witness box. The hearing had resumed ten minutes ago, but not without incidents. Apart from the sudden disappearance of the young Auror after Malfoy's supposed indisposition and subsequent break in the procedures –which apparently the emerald-eyed wizard didn't care to clarify as of yet- Harry had come back to the courtroom quite dishevelled and in a foul mood. He had just sat there, looking pensive and irritated, not answering any of Ron's questions about his whereabouts. Then, the obnoxious defendant had finally showed up, accompanied by his equally irritating godfather, and Ron noticed that Harry didn't seem to be able to do anything other than stare at his annoying person the whole time. The blond, for his part, appeared almost, if not completely, upset about something, and Ron had caught him stealing furtive glances at his best mate, looking for all he was worth as if he was... constipated. Yes, that would be the word.

Next, once the hearing had started again, strange comments started raining down from the media box; stuff about a 'mid-hearing bathroom rendezvous' in between Harry's and Malfoy's names that certainly didn't do shite to alleviate Ron's discomfort. To top it all off, Harry finished his intervention by acting very rudely towards Luton -who was practically royalty in the Department- stating that 'the Auror Force had found nothing against Malfoy', that that was all the git (that would be, the prosecutor himself) needed to know, and that if he was allowed to state his personal opinion, the whole hearing was a complete fiasco. With that, Harry had left the witness box without waiting for a dismissal -signalling the end of the witnesses' declarations- and Ron had practically dreaded that his best friend would give the one-fingered salute to the cameras just to wrap it all up. Thank Merlin that didn't cross the Golden Boy's mind; it would have certainly made a statement, alright. Still, to say that Ron, Seamus, and Angelina were completely outraged was the understatement of the year.

"Are you happy now, mate?" Ron said between clenched teeth, his freckles practically invisible in his anger. Harry merely scowled at him and resumed his –supposedly inconspicuous- staring at Malfoy, who now seemed even more constipated than before, in Ron's opinion. Or maybe that's just the way the git always looked; to him, at least.

"What the hell was all that about, Potter?" Angelina hissed. "Do you realise you just made a fool of yourself; of the whole department for that matter!" Harry turned to look at her, his scowl deepening.

"If saying the truth translates into acting like a fool, then by all means, I am proud to be one. I'm sick and tired of Luton twisting this whole thing to his advantage, and I'm sick and tired of you guys siding with that prick," he said firmly, his whispers turning louder with each word. Angelina narrowed her dark eyes at him.

"That is insubordination, Potter! And Luton is merely doing his job!"

"No, he's not!" Harry spat. "He's playing with an innocent man's life, tricking everybody into thinking what he wants them to think, and I don't plan to just sit back and let him do it if I have any say in the matter!"

By now, some of the attendees and journalists sitting around the Auror group were turning to listen at the commotion taking place next to them. Ron looked up and saw Malfoy staring at Harry, and couldn't help but feel his anger flare even more.

"It was that git, wasn't it?" he snapped lowly; his face contorted with rage and his whispers hoarse as the need for subtlety forbade him to yell like he wanted to. "Malfoy hexed you into this! He placed you under Imperio to make you defend him! He's using you!"

"_What_!" This time Harry did yell, eliciting a tidal wave of murmurs and exclamations all over the courtroom and interrupting the quiet debating taking place at the presidium. Soon enough the rusty "Order!"s started once again, and the sounds of gavel hitting wood were completely overtaken by the buzz and fuzz going on inside the tribunal. Harry, to his merit, didn't pay one ounce of attention to it all, but he did lower his voice. "What the fuck are you talking about? He did not! Does somebody have to be under Imperio to do the right thing? Are you saying that the fact that I'm vouching for justice means that I've been hexed? Even if Draco had tried to place me under Imperio, did you forget I can fight it off as easily as I can perform a Wronsky Feint?" Harry spat, noticing just a bit too late that he had said Malfoy's given name out loud, not to mention the look of utter astonishment on his best friend's face...

He blanched as realisation dawned.

Oh, Gods! Could it be? Could it all be just a spell or a curse or something? Had Malfoy hexed _him_ somehow, and that whole act the blond had pulled in the bathroom was just a trick, a trap to get him to help Malfoy out of this mess?

Had he been tricked into another of Malfoy's games?

"Order! Order! Order!" the old wizard at the presidium roared, looking like he was on the verge of having cardiac arrest. "I'll say this one more time, and it will be the last: this is a _tribunal_, not a Quidditch match! Another interruption and I'll call for a mistrial. Is that understood?" the Wizengamot warlock said firmly, and his stern expression conveyed that he really wasn't expecting a response. By some strange miracle of the Providence, silence reigned once again; although muffled whispering could still be heard from the media box.

"Now, before I lose the little bit of patience I have left, I call for the defendant to the box for his declaration," the wizard said hastily. Malfoy appeared to have been expecting this moment. His face set once again in an impassive mask, he exchanged a few words with his godfather, stood up gracefully from his chair, and walked towards the witness box, confident and poised as the Malfoy he was, and not letting show an ounce of the inner turmoil eating at his insides.

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Draco stood up in front of the guard, and subjected himself to the oath and the golden wand procedure. Once the guard was done, he took his seat at the box, but he could still feel the wary eye of the officer on him, which annoyed Draco to no end. What did the moron think he'd do? Jump out of the box, blast a hole through the wall, escape out of a fully-guarded building, and actually make it to the next apparition spot unscathed? _Bloody git._

It was a strange feeling, being –for once- the focal point of every pair of eyes in a room where Harry Potter was also present. Draco felt the little hairs standing at the back of his neck, and decided that he didn't like the attention, not only because every face in the room appeared to have been sculpted into a nasty glare or a disgusted grimace; there was his godfather at the defendant box, staring at him as if expecting he'd do something stupid, and there was... Potter; Potter and that annoying, worried expression plastered on his face. If the git thought Draco would thank him for that little performance of his five minutes ago, he was completely mistaken. Although, Draco did thoroughly enjoy the Pig's face when Harry called him a git!

Wait a second... Did I just say...? Did I just called Potter 'Harry' and not drop dead in the process?

And there it was again, the cold dread and mortification his own thoughts elicited, and the memory of his godfather's words echoing in his mind: "_The truth you've been waiting for all this time..._"

Truth. The word that had had so many different meanings throughout his life; the one word he feared with all his being. Draco had learned in his short existence that the truth is not always one and the same; it's variable and customizable, according to people's needs. And there are many types of truths: half truths, shadow-truths, apparent-truths, and truths that just… are; the 'ethereal' truths, as he called them; the truths you can't prove, refute, or understand; the ones that just exist because it's intrinsically mandatory, like the air; you can't deny them or you'd be denying yourself.

Those were the truths Draco had never known.

His life as a pureblood wizard, as the Malfoy Heir, had been an apparent-truth. He had thought it real, solid and unshakable, until one trivial turn of Fate revealed it for what it truly was: a well-constructed lie. His work as a spy, on the other hand, could be deemed as a half truth: even with all the 'good' he had supposedly done, his actions had lacked conviction, had lacked the purpose of a truly felt ideal; he had done it all for the wrong reasons -maybe he even hadn't had any reasons at all- so he could not call himself a 'true' hero, even when others might think otherwise, should they know 'the truth'. Shadow-truths had been a part of his life since he was a child, as he had been trained to conceal his real thoughts and emotions under carefully-crafted facades, showing the world only what he wanted them to see: a shadow of himself; an illusion that was too perfect to be false, conceived to confuse and dissuade, to keep others at bay; to lie, to cheat, to take advantage of every situation. Shadow-truths were the tricky ones, but he had mastered the art, as every Malfoy was supposed to.

And then, there was 'the truth' of his life; a truth so delicate, so fragile, Draco sometimes wondered if it was true at all; if somehow he hadn't lost his mind with so much hoping, with so much wishing it was real. He _had_ a Soul Mate; someone who completed him in every aspect, someone who was meant for him and him alone… or at least, that was what Animus Salutor was supposed to mean. He didn't know why it had happened to him of all people, or what he had done to deserve it. Yes. Years and years of cold, objective reasoning always seemed to get in the way, and even when he knew the 'irrefutable facts', he was sometimes adamant to accept the 'truth'; because, let's face it, it is damn-right scary believing in such a subtle thing as Love.

And it was precisely that, _Love_, the truth 'he'd been waiting for all this time'. The 'ethereal truth' of his life; the one truth that was unchangeable, unavoidable, and undeniable; the only thing he had ever wanted in his world of shadow-truths and half-lies; that something real, precious; that something that would give his life some meaning, _true_ meaning. The truth that had become the greatest wish of his heart. But he had to admit, he was scared of that truth; scared he would be inadequate, scared he wasn't worthy, scared it would turn out to be just another lie like so many things in his life… so he refused to call it an ethereal truth as of yet. For the moment, it was just his… ethereal desire.

Still, was he closer to that truth than he realised?

"Mr. Luton, you may start your questioning."

Draco was brought back to reality, and the next thing he knew, the repulsive man –baptized as 'the Pig' in his head- was now right in front of him; his chubby arm placed in the balustrade and his greasy face scowling at him. It was in times like these when Draco seriously reconsidered the fact that he was gay.

"Mr. Malfoy, so we are face to face at last," the Pig ventured with a grotesque smile that showed his yellow teeth in all of their… disgrace. The blond merely scowled, disgusted, and Luton's smile widened in a mocking sort of way. "Even when our dearest Saviour, Mr. Harry Potter, has so vehemently told us that his team at the Auror Department _couldn't_ find any evidence against you, there are a few matters we'd like for you to clarify for us." He paused for effect, leaning against the box. "Will you please tell us of your activities during the war?" he said hastily, taking Draco a bit by surprise. He hadn't thought the man would jump to the climax so fast!

"What about them?" he retorted haughtily, trying to gain some time to adjust his mind-frame and rethink his strategy. Luton nearly laughed.

"What about them, he asks!" he guffawed to the audience, and people would have laughed with him if it hadn't been for the look on the Wizengamot wizard's face and the suddenly raised gavel in his hand. "How about, what _were_ they, exactly?" the Pig actually _purred_, and Draco was suddenly scared he'd choke on his own vomit.

"I was a regular student at Hogwarts School during that time, so you may say that my 'activities' were of the academic type," he responded easily, gesturing casually with his hands. The Pig narrowed his eyes at the blonde's cheek.

"So, are you trying to convince us that you were just a 'regular' student in a world at war, that you never participated in any of it by any means whatsoever, even when your whole family was involved with the Dark Side?" he asked lowly.

"Not everyone in my family was involved with the Dark Side, Mr. Luton," Draco retorted smartly, "but other than that, yes, I believe I am."

It was too much. The audience exploded in whispers. "Order!" the warlock yelled, but he didn't use the gavel, nor he called for a mistrial. Draco loved the outraged expression on the Pig's face, but his satisfaction was half-felt as he started getting a strange itch on his face, as if dozens of tiny ants were running over his nose and cheeks, but he suppressed the urge to scratch; it would be completely undignified of him to do so in front of people.

Luton breathed in a couple of times before he continued. "Ok, Mr. Malfoy, let's change the line of questioning. What about your three-years vacation in Greece? You were living in the region of Macedonia, weren't you? To be more specific, in a Muggle area called 'Naousa'. Why would you live amongst Muggles, when there is such a large magical community just in the outskirts of Athens?" he asked, hissing, and looking intently at Draco.

"My mother's grandmother, Saldivia Rosier, owned a small vineyard in the area, which my mother inherited. The property had remained abandoned for several years, and she thought it would be a nice idea if I went there and re-established it. She wanted me to live on my own, to learn to be independent, so to speak. It wasn't as if we had the same luxuries and riches anymore, and as I knew it would be quite hard for me to make a proper living here in England due to my surname, I accepted," Draco said a little too harshly, mostly irritated at the now impossible-to-ignore itching on his face, and trying hard not to relent to the scratching urges.

"So you're saying you were not actually running away?" Luton said flatly, his eyes weighing on Draco.

"Why would I? It's not like I had something to hide! So what if I lived three years in a Muggle area? It's not like we're not always surrounded by Muggles anyway!" he spat, ignoring the outrage in the courtroom. Oh, that awful itch! Draco was sure his hands must be shaking under the table! Gods! Was he having an allergic reaction or something? Worse yet, was it Potter's hex doing it? He chanced a look at the aforementioned idiot, and the git was shaking his head at him, as if incredulous, his eyes as wide as saucers. Draco merely narrowed his eyes at him with contempt. What the fuck was that all about? Oh! Bloody itch!

Would he look incredibly plebeian if he scratched his nose... just a little bit?

"Ok. You were not running away, but we have proofs that you didn't use magic during all those years. Was it so we couldn't trace you; so we couldn't know where you were?" Luton asked in his feminine tone, the signs of a satisfied smile appearing at the corners of his lips as he watched the defendant carefully. Draco looked at Luton sharply, his brow gleaming with perspiration.

"I just fancied a sabbatical from the Wizarding World," he hissed. The itching was almost unbearable, and his thoughts were starting to mingle together in his desperation. Every pore on his face felt as if it was alive, tickling and churning and demanding attention. He couldn't stand it any longer. He had to do it. He just...

"Oh, bloody Hell!" Draco suddenly yelled, and his hands were all over his flushed face in a flash, scratching and scraping to make that horrible sensation go away. He scratched and scratched until it hurt, until he was sure he'd drawn blood, but at least the itch was gone. Relieved and breathing deeply with satisfaction, he finally looked up to the courtroom.

The first thing he noticed was Luton's triumphant, flamboyant smile. That annoyed him. The second thing he noticed was the deadly silence, and the astonished faces in front of him. That confused him. The third thing he noticed was Severus' scowl and his hand pressed against his face in a 'I-knew-this-would-happen' pose. That irritated him. The fourth thing he noticed –and he didn't care to wonder why he had looked in that direction in the first place- was the look of utter horror and disappointment on Potter's face. That... scared him. And the last thing he noticed was the guards standing right beside him, wands out and apparently ready to apprehend him. That did it!

"What the..." He didn't finish his sentence.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are under arrest for lying under oath in a judicial procedure. You will be held in Azkaban Prison for interrogation under Veritaserum until your sentence is decided according to our findings," the Wizengamot wizard said in a slow, despondent voice.

What? He didn't lie! Well, not much anyway! Not about what mattered! What was going on? What..?

"No! Wait a minute! I didn't lie!" Draco said, hating his own voice for sounding so shaky. As if on cue, Luton appeared from nowhere and held a mirror to his face, and Draco saw with complete bewilderment that the word 'Perjurer' was written all over his countenance with countless red blisters.

Oh. The itch.

The golden wand with the funny blue light.

Draco didn't have time to react to this awful realisation: In an instant, the guards grabbed him forcibly by the arms, and he winced as he felt rough fingers digging into his skin. The courtroom was in total chaos; there were shouts, people rushing around, and flashes coming from all directions, blinding him. Suddenly, he had Ronald Weasley's face in front of him.

"Don't you dare put your filthy hands on me!" Draco snapped, but to no avail: the redhead just smirked viciously at him as he rummaged in his robe pockets and took his wand away. Then, the Weasel grabbed him by the collar of his robe and dragged him out of the box with the help of the guards as Draco twisted and turned to free himself, only achieving worse treatment with his actions.

Next thing, Harry Potter was standing in front of him; his face set in a blank, unforgiving mask as he started casting a binding charm on Draco's wrists. Draco couldn't remember seeing that cold expression on Potter's face before, even when he had always been the recipient of many a glare and insult from the Golden Boy. He didn't know why, but seeing that disappointed look terrified him. He knew he had to do something, but wasn't sure what.

"Potter…" he ventured, but the Auror just ignored him. Draco felt his heart do a summersault. Potter had defended him, had called the Pig a git to his face for him, risking an admonition from his superiors, to say the least. Now, he probably thought he had done everything in vain; he probably thought that Draco was just like his father! _Oh, no, no, no! I'm not a bloody criminal!_ "Potter, I'm not…" he said, his voice breaking and fraught, and for a second, those emerald eyes locked with his at the same time as he felt a cold weight on his wrists. Potter looked away and stepped back. Somehow, what truly made Draco flinch were not the shackles tying his arms together, but the flicker of hurt that flashed almost imperceptibly across his childhood enemy's face.

Draco felt dread rising, and he started kicking and trashing even more. "I am not a Death Eater!" he tried to say, but nothing came out of his mouth. Somebody had placed a Silencing Charm on him, and he looked to his right to see Ralph Luton smirking at him and waving his wand playfully in one hand. "You don't want to say anything you'd regret later," he said, mockingly, and Draco glared at him with all the hatred he felt. _Bloody_ _Bastard_! Sweet Athena, what was he going to do? Why didn't he just tell the stupid truth? _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _He didn't want to go to Azkaban! He wasn't his father! He wasn't, goddamn it!

In all the havoc of journalists, attendees, guards, and Aurors, he couldn't find Severus. He was being dragged through the centre aisle -no doubt towards the side door he had used when he had first come into the courtroom- and his desperation rose considerably when he saw a Dementor standing by the open door. Hadn't those awful things been banned or something?

_This isn't happening. This isn't happening!_

Draco was starting to _really_ panic; he was making it very hard for his captors to handle him. He would _not_ go down easily, for Salazar's prick! In that moment, he cursed his father for paving this road for him. He cursed his mother for sending him away, for dying on him. He cursed the Wizarding World for stigmatizing him. And he cursed Harry Potter, just for good measure: for having always bested him, for destroying the life he knew, for… what, exactly?

He was starting to find some other relatives and inconsequential people to curse inside his head as the guards pushed him brusquely towards the side hallway leading to the special door where the Dementor –and Luton, he noticed with alarm- were waiting for him, when the main doors of the Wizengamot tribunal burst open. A ruffle of gold and red flew across the ceiling in his direction, just as a melodious trill resounded inside the courtroom, overpowering the pandemonium beneath. Draco felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and he looked up to see that what was perched there, wings spread and never faltering in its singing, was a large, beautiful phoenix.

"Release that young man this instant," someone bellowed. Draco turned sharply towards the voice.

Standing in the doorway, star-splashed purple robes billowing in an invisible breeze and twinkling blue eyes powerful and stern, was Albus Dumbledore.

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TBC…


	6. The Light Shines Through

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** M (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

**Disclaimer:** I certainly don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe. So please, don't sue.

**Author Note:** Hello, you guys! So here it is! After such a long wait, the fifth instalment of Ethereal Desire is finally up. I'm so, so sorry for making you guys wait so long; this is a very emotional, very complex chapter. It took forever to get right, and still I don't think it is as good as I would have liked! Oh, well :S Thanks to **Enchant** for Beta-ing this!

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter Five**

The Light Shines Through

It was as if some Deity had suddenly stopped Time. Everybody was frozen in their spots, eyes as wide as plates and mouths gaping like stranded fish, staring at the imposing figure that had just appeared out of the blue in the courtroom as if the old man were some sort of apparition; although, this reaction was seriously a small wonder.

To the utmost astonishment of all the souls crowding the tribunal, the ancient wizard started walking towards the defendant in a regal, smooth pace; his long silver hair and beard nearly sweeping the floor. Inside the courtroom, one could've heard a pin drop; even the journalists seemed to have been hit by _Petrificus Totalis_, and some of them had even dropped their quills and magical cameras in their surprise. _What is Albus Dumbledore doing here?_ was the thought on everyone's minds, but everybody was too shocked to voice it out loud. For the moment, anyway.

Dumbledore made his confident way towards one quite-nonplussed Draco Malfoy; people parting like the Red Sea to let him pass. He stopped in front of the Malfoy Heir, who looked at him with complete disbelief etched on his marred face; his stormy-grey eyes blinking repeatedly in his silent bewilderment. The old wizard merely put both his hands on the blonde's shoulders and smiled a summer's day smile at him.

"I'm very sorry I'm late, my boy. Traffic was quite hectic," he said in a conspiratorial voice as he gave the stunned young wizard a playful wink. He then took out his wand from his inner robe pocket and waved it casually in front of Draco, who winced visibly as if expecting a jinx. Immediately, the shackles vanished with a 'puff' of golden smoke, right at the same time a tiny shriek escaped Draco's lips -which he hated himself horribly for-. The phoenix was still perched on his shoulder, and to Draco's continued incredulity, it started ruffling his long, slick hair; releasing soft, soothing notes in his ear -as if trying to reassure him that everything would be alright- that filled him with a wave of renewed hope and strength. Draco found himself offering a tiny smile to the magnificent bird, who he now guessed was no other than the legendary Fawkes. Dumbledore for his part, noticing the small gesture, winked one more time at Draco, which the blond responded to with a wary gaze as he rubbed the red marks on his wrists.

"Er… I suppose thanks are in order?" Draco said in a cautious tone; his eyes searching the old wizard's lined face intently for some clue as to what was happening. Dumbledore chuckled softly.

"Not yet, my boy," he replied. "First, let's do something about that petty rash on your face, shall we?" he said, his amused tone never faltering. He waved his wand once more, a blue-green mist coming out of its tip, and Draco could tell by the cool, fresh tingle now spreading all over his face that the awful blisters were gone. Out of its own volition, his hand flew towards his cheek, stroking the once more soft, flawless skin. He let escape a sharp sigh of relief, pointedly ignoring the old coot's apparently perpetual genial grin.

"Wait a minute, Dumbledore!" growled Luton, who had managed to push and shoulder his way through the mass of catatonic people to where the defendant and the Headmaster stood. "You can't just _waltz_ in here, flaunting your power, and freeing the prisoners as if you were the Minister himself! Weasley, Finnegan, cast those bloody charms again!" he said angrily, scowling at the two young Aurors who -to the prosecutor's wrath- didn't move an inch, traumatized as they were by their idol's actions towards the insufferable git, Draco Malfoy.

"Ah, yes, yes, Mr. Luton; you're quite right," Dumbledore said indulgently, turning to regard the irate prosecutor with a content expression on his face, as if Luton weren't, in fact, glaring fiery darts in his direction. "I am not the Minister nor am I allowed to free the 'prisoners', as you call them, but I am Chief Warlock of this fine institution, and it is within _my_ power and responsibility to appeal to any injustice as I see fit; which I'm afraid, seems to be the case with young Mr. Malfoy here. I'm sure Ignatius won't mind hearing what I have to say this fine morning?" he said, addressing his question to the old wizard at the presidium, his twinkling blue eyes shining with amusement. Draco –not quite understanding Dumbledore's behaviour but still very grateful for his sudden appearance- glanced inconspicuously at the spot Luton had occupied just moments ago, and saw the creepy creature that was the Dementor hovering restlessly in the small hallway beyond the special door. He hoped Dumbledore's powers of persuasion would prove to be as infallible as they were supposed to be.

"Not at all, Albus, not at all! I was wondering if you would show up, to tell the truth," the warlock said, smiling back at Dumbledore with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Now, come where I can hear you properly; not all of us possess those youthful qualities of yours! Mr. Malfoy, you too, please," he added, waving aside the inaudible yet continuous comments of the snotty witch sitting beside him as if she were a bothersome fly invading his personal space. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled even more, if that was possible, and Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was because of the indignation clearly portrayed on the Pig's face or because of the offended "Hmph!" the old witch had just uttered, or both. Either way, his appreciation for the old batty wizard increased somewhat, but –just for the record- not much, just... enough.

Dumbledore gave a tiny nod, and signalled for him to move along to the front of the court, where the Wizengamot wizards were seated, once again submerged in their argument -the old warlock he now assumed was 'Ignatius' was visibly scolding his colleagues for their remarks- at the presidential table.

The shock was quickly starting to wear off all across the tribunal, and the flashes of magical cameras, the scratches of quills, the whispers, and the murmurs started all over again. The people who had stood up to leave had hurriedly taken their seats once more, eager to know what was going to happen with this new –and quite entertaining, no doubt- development. At the media box, the journalists had resumed the live broadcasting; their frenzied muttering filling the courtroom like the buzz made by hundreds of bees at work.

The Hogwarts' Headmaster stopped just in front of the presidium, with Draco standing on his right side.

"Ignatius, I have in my possession two very important items that can validate Mr. Malfoy's innocence," Dumbledore spoke affably but firmly. "The first is a memory of mine; a memory of Narcissa Black, Mr. Malfoy's late mother, giving a declaration on her son's special activities during the war, under Veritaserum, a few months before her passing. The second is a memory she provided herself, which I haven't seen yet and which she said would help clarify a few things should her declaration prove to be insufficient. It was her wish that I'd present such items only if the need arose, which I regret to say, it has."

The low murmur filling the tribunal intensified, but nobody dared to raise their voice further than a whisper. At Dumbledore's side, Draco remained eerily quiet; his mercury eyes purposely set somewhere over the old warlock's shoulder.

"Mr. Fernin, pardon my rudeness, but you are not seriously considering believing this preposterous story? Draco Malfoy committed perjury before this court! That's enough reason to put him behind bars!" Luton exclaimed, incensed, staring at the Wizengamot's Chief Warlock with wild-looking eyes. It seemed he didn't like having his victory ripped away so blatantly by someone who he obviously considered a meddlesome human relic.

"Young Malfoy may have _omitted_ some truths, Ignatius, but I'm sure that if he did so, he had his own good reasons," Dumbledore replied, apparently oblivious to Luton's presence and his rather vicious scowl. "However, if you will be so kind as to accept this small piece of evidence, I'm quite sure you won't be disappointed," he added matter-of-factly.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Luton is absolutely right, Dumbledore," the snotty witch spoke for the first time; her voice reminiscent of the screech made by corroded hinges. "Perjury is a serious offence. Nobody has ever dared to lie inside this tribunal since the end of the war. I personally think that Draco Malfoy has proved his worth," she finished, performing a dismissive gesture with her wrinkled, bejewelled hand that indicated just how very keen she was to be finished with this nonsense.

The audience exploded in conflicting exclamations; there were some "That's right!'s" and some "Let Dumbledore speak!'s" amongst the more subdued whispers and murmurs.

"I agree with Lucretia, Ignatius; Mr. Malfoy had his chance to speak and he lied, or... '_omitted_ _some truths_', as Dumbledore put it. If this had been a trial, his sentence wouldn't have been so kind, which I personally think it is," said the wizard sitting at the left end of the table in a deep, gruff voice as he addressed the Wizengamot's Chief Wizard; his thick cindery moustache quivering comically with each word he said. He nudged the other Wizengamot warlock sitting on his left side –a very old-looking man wearing a maroon hat, who had remained strangely immobile throughout the hearing- with his elbow, to which the old wizard reacted to by nodding his head and saying "I second that!" in a raspy, startled tone. Apparently, the old man wasn't dead, like Draco had thought; he had just been sleeping with his eyes open the whole time.

"My dear colleagues, all I'm asking for is for you to examine these memories; in public, if you so wish," Dumbledore said calmly, his content expression never leaving his face. "I give you my word that I won't insist any further should you reach the same conclusion after you do; which I must say, I highly doubt."

"Well, Albus, if you believe that..."

"Mr. Fernin, the sentence has already been passed! This hearing is officially over!" Luton exclaimed, interrupting the warlock's sentence; his shiny face turning an alarming shade of purple.

"_Once_ _again_, you're right, Mr. Luton. We must follow the procedures, Dumbledore. If you want to appeal to our sentence, you must follow the regulations," the snotty witch, Lucretia, said sharply –looking pointedly at Ignatius Fernin- before she turned again to sneer at the Headmaster. "Besides, you always seem so keen on helping Death Eaters, Dumbledore. Isn't this the same stunt you pulled at Severus Snape's trial?"

The audience stirred once more and Draco felt his heart jump into his throat. Did that mean that not even Dumbledore could save him now? Wasn't he supposed to be… _omnipotent_ or something? To their right, Luton was smirking with grotesque delight, and the blond felt another rush of hatred towards the disgusting man.

_Pig_.

"I'm not keen of Death Eaters, Lucretia. I'm just keen of helping the innocent." There was the slightest hint of a threat in Albus' voice; which the old witch didn't seem to like one bit as her face turned into the same dramatic, offended expression she had worn only moments earlier, when Ignatius had told her to 'shut her old trap'.

"With all due respect, sirs, madam; I think you should oblige Dumbledore's request. All that matters in this room is justice, not procedures, after all. Isn't this ideal of equity what drives our world today?" somebody said loudly from somewhere behind them. Draco couldn't help but turn sharply towards the voice... just like every other person in the tribunal.

Harry Potter was standing amongst the audience near the prosecutor's dock. His face was deadly serious, almost stoical, and his posture was confident and powerful. He glanced for the most fleeting of moments at Draco, his emerald eyes shining with resolution behind those ridiculous glasses, and the Slytherin felt a long shiver running up and down his spine before he realized the moment was gone. "Please," the raven-haired wizard added shortly; his voice not a demand, but not a plea, either.

Some of the attendees reacted loudly to the brazen interruption, and the reporters took this newest intervention of Potter's as their cue for more chartbuster commentary. Practically oblivious to the bedlam started anew, Draco could only stare at Harry, utterly baffled, and yes, somewhat... glad.

But also terribly, _terribly_ preoccupied.

Besides –no, scratch that; _apart from_- Severus Snape –who, as a matter of fact, Draco hadn't been able to find anywhere in the courtroom as of yet - nobody had ever stood by him like this, and Draco was finding himself quite puzzled by the raven-haired Auror's actions. Draco couldn't understand Potter's game. What was he playing at? Why was he acting so sympathetic towards him all of the sudden? It wasn't the first, or the second, but the _third_ time Potter had defended him in the course of two hours -if he had listened correctly when Potty and the Weasel were arguing moments ago, of course-. Why would Potter do something like that, appealing for him, a 'supposed' criminal, in front of a tribunal full of his adoring fans, openly defying his superiors? Surely Potter wouldn't want them to brand him a traitor; now, would he?

Was it that Potter really thought he was innocent, that Draco had never been a Death Eater? Was it that Harry Potter actually _believed_ him?

_No. It can't be. You saw his face, Draco! He looked at you with the same contempt as the others whilst he cast those binding charms. He's just playing with you. It's all part of his game…_

Unbidden, memories came rushing to Draco's mind as if his own thoughts had triggered them; as if their only purpose was to contradict him. A memory of a soft, worried voice that he had recognized in a split second as he laid sprawled, suffering on a bathroom floor, asking if he was alright. A memory of honest emerald eyes flashing with hurt when Draco snapped back at them as it was so customary, so easy when it came down to him and Harry Potter. A memory of Harry's face, confused and offended, when he had accused him of hexing him…

_No. Potter doesn't…It's all a trick. It's all part of his plan, getting me all worked-up like this. He's just playing with me…_

"_Why would Harry Potter hex you, Draco?_" Severus' voice suddenly repeated inside his head.

_Because… Because he hates me; because _I _hate him_, replied Draco to the echo, trying to silence the disturbing thoughts. This was pointless. Why was he even thinking about it?

"_You_ _are not using that pretty head of yours…_"

_I _am _using my head! That's why I can see how completely insane this whole…mental monologue is! There's nothing to dwell on; nothing to render one ounce of my attention to! Potter is the least of my worries right now!_

Then again, as if mocking him, another memory of Harry Potter crossed his mind: the Hero up against the tiled wall of the bathroom; his cheeks flushed and his breathing ragged; his jade eyes shining with challenge, and passion, and…

Just like in those visions...

_No! This is ridiculous!_ _You're _not _thinking about this! I forbid you! Get a grip, goddamn it!_ His inner voice was starting to sound desperate.

"_You're not putting matters in perspective; you're not looking from the right angles..._"

_What other angles are there to look from?_, snapped Draco at his godfather's voice; trying to ignore that, even inside his head, his voice was faltering, sounding weak and uncertain. Unexpectedly, that red bulb started blinking again somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, and suddenly, there he was, Harry Potter, standing before his mind's eye; his old school robes flapping in the wind and his lips turned into a mischievous smile, telling him the words Draco had once thrown at him, although not quite the same:

"_Are you scared, Draco?_"

_What? What's the matter with you, Potter? Why would I..?_

But before Draco could respond to Potter's question in kind, the image vanished, just like the others; leaving only uncertainty and that all too familiar feeling of wrongness in its wake.

"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed subtlety beside him, nudging his elbow 'accidentally' as he appeared to fumble for something inside his robe pocket. Draco resurfaced into reality, realising just then that he had been staring at Potter all this time. He turned swiftly to the front again, inwardly mortified. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore regarding him with a curious expression on his face, and Draco had the strange feeling that the old coot knew exactly what he had been thinking about… not that he believed in any of those pathetic stories about the Headmaster of Hogwarts, mind you. Annoyed, he willed himself to the 'here' and the 'now' once more, but to his further irritation, his mind was still resonating with Potter's words:

"_Are you scared, Draco?_"

And the thing was that he didn't know anymore.

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Severus Snape made his way to the front of the courtroom as inconspicuously as he could through one of the side aisles, which was proving to be rather difficult with so many people on the look-out for new surprises. Damn the old man! He could have shown up the moment Severus had triggered the signal -saving the three of them not just a few inconveniences- but no; the great Albus Percival Dumbledore had to create as much kerfuffle as he could; anything less would simply not be 'inspiring' enough. What was that the Headmaster always said? Oh, right: "_One must always wait for the opportune moment"_. Well, if he had waited another five seconds for his bloody moment the questionable Ralph Luton and a Dementor would now be escorting his godson to Azkaban Prison. It wasn't paranoia on his part that Barty Crouch Jr.'s incident came to mind as a possibility.

_Insufferable, crazy wizard._ _No wonder he's a Gryffindor!_

The Potions Master finally reached a part of the audience closer to the Presidium without actually stepping beyond the balustrade and took the last vacant seat on that side of the courtroom: one placed near the wall, from where it was practically impossible to see what was going on at the front. He could see part of Albus' unmistakable purple robes between the mass of people but not even a glimpse of his godson, which he regretted; he wanted to be able to see Draco's response to everything that was going on. Once again, damn the old man! If he hadn't sent Severus to the Department of Magical Transport on the sixth level to get a legal Portkey to the Headmaster's office, he could have found himself a better seat. It wasn't as if the obnoxious wizard ever cared about breaking the rules where Portkeys were concerned… Although, Severus suddenly thought, perhaps it was best not to stretch their luck with angering the Ministry, taking the current circumstances into consideration.

Severus had known that the Headmaster would find some opposition from the most biased members of the Wizengamot panel if –_when_, Severus corrected himself grumpily- he made his petition for the acceptance of the new evidence, but all-in-all, it seemed that Albus had everything under control. In fact, Severus wasn't the least worried about the Wizengamot's reaction; not with Ignatius Fernin, Dumbledore's partner and fellow-conspirator, sitting as Chief Warlock. Right now, he was worried about Draco's once the blond figured out what was going on; which, Severus knew, wouldn't take him long. Once again, the Potions Master cursed the old wizard under his breath. Damn Albus and his machinations. Didn't he tire of playing Zeus with people's lives?

Once more -and this time against his wishes- Draco had found himself in the middle of a game, and his godfather knew the blond would not like it one single bit. At this moment, Severus was worried that Draco wouldn't see the over all scenario and would focus instead on the petty 'Why's and 'How dare you's. All that remained to be seen now was if his godson would -_eventually_; Severus was sure of that- understand that all his godfather and Dumbledore had in mind had been his well-being, no matter the devious approach. But still, would he? Would Draco understand that it wasn't a matter of betrayal, but of using the means necessary to guarantee his safety?

All things considered, Severus had to give it to him: the Headmaster understood the world he lived in better than many, and knew how to play the cards to his advantage. Were Dumbledore's true intentions of a more 'obscure' type, he certainly would have been an unstoppable Dark Lord. Blasted old wizard. The fact that Albus Dumbledore -who had never interacted with his godson in any other way beyond the Headmaster-Pupil relationship- had known exactly how his godson would react to this new threat even after Severus had 'assured' him that Draco would come around on his own terms, that they would not need to recur to such schemes, said a lot about the old man's immeasurable wisdom and grasp of the most intrinsic aspects of the human nature. It _had_ to be that, because the alternative –namely Severus being a complete ignoramus where his godson was concerned- was a complete disappointment to the very man that had tried to the extent of his capabilities to be the father Draco had never had.

And -let's face it, Severus- that stung like Hell.

Yes; Severus Snape had been completely certain that his 'noncommittal' strategy would be enough to push Draco against the wall and make him confess his collaboration with the Order; but it seemed that the Headmaster hadn't earned his fame in vane and he did 'know it all'; or knew 'enough', as the old coot would say. The truth prevailed, though: Severus shouldn't have underestimated his godson's obstinacy. The child was a Malfoy, after all.

Perhaps Draco _was_ right, and he was not only getting senile, but he was also turning into an overly optimistic Hufflepuff in the process. Or perhaps Dumbledore was just a sneaky bastard who was actually a Slytherin in disguise. Thank Merlin the Potions Master had been cautious and remembered to bring that blasted coin with him. That knowledge gave him some semblance of control over the situation, but –he hated admitting it- he knew that Albus would have showed up nevertheless; charmed coin or not.

_Damn the old man for being so infuriatingly right all the time_, Severus scowled to himself. Again.

A small commotion started several seats to his right, just before a loud, firm voice resonated across the tribunal. Severus craned his neck to see what was going on, and noticed a dark-haired man in Auror robes standing amongst the audience.

_Potter_.

Why didn't that surprise him?

Now, this whole situation between Potter and Draco was quite confusing, to say the least. Apparently, neither one of the two young wizards had the tiniest clue as to what was going on between them, which ultimately wasn't too surprising, knowing who the parties involved are. Nevertheless, when he had reached that bathroom he had been expecting to find a very... let's say 'compromising' scene; so it was quite shocking to see the two brats at each other's throats instead. Thank Merlin he had gotten there in time; the Gods only knew what the consequences would have been if they had indeed attacked each other...

In all his life, Severus had never felt such a powerful bond. The magical energy was exuding from the two men in waves; it had made him feel quite light-headed, to tell the truth. He hadn't needed to cast _Revelo Animus _to know their two magical fields were intertwined, feeding on each other, vibrating to each other's rhythms. Animus Salutor was working its magic to bring them _together_… which was a thought Severus was still too perplexed to contemplate fully. Still, how could they be bonded and be so unaware of the fact at the same time? Were they _truly_ oblivious to their condition? Draco had admitted to the symptoms, even if he hadn't put two and two together as of yet –either that or he didn't _want_ to-. Hopefully, Severus had given him some things to think about. Potter… Well, Potter was Potter, an enigma of megalomaniacal proportions, but it was obvious that he wasn't acting as he was 'supposed' to towards Draco. And there was the issue of the visions Draco had mentioned; that was an interesting development altogether. All the same, things were moving too fast, and if his conclusions were correct, Severus knew he had to get to the bottom of it soon, for his godson's sake, and yes, for Potter's as well.

This was as good an opportunity as any, so the Potions Master stood up from his seat and moved amongst the audience to where Potter was, eliciting a few upset remarks from the people in his vicinity. He reached the row behind Potter's seat, where a few girls were giggling behind their hands and staring adoringly at their hero, obviously paying little to no attention to the procedures. Severus moved further along the row, and stopped when he had reached the desired spot. He stood before the group of girls, his dark-cloaked figure towering menacingly over one of them -a skinny young witch with dirty-blond hair that was sitting right behind Potter- with his nastiest look plastered on his face. The girl, who was about to say something rude to the person clouding her view, looked completely terrified the second she recognized who was standing before her. The wizard mouthed the word 'Move!' at her, and with a mighty squeak, she stood up and went to share a seat with one of her friends, not waiting to be told twice; all the while sending furtive, nervous looks in the Potions Master's direction.

Satisfied with his small victory, he took the seat behind the Golden Boy, who didn't seem to register anything going on around him except for the sight before the Presidium. Severus leaned a bit in his newly claimed chair to get closer to Harry, and cleared his throat before speaking to make his presence known.

"Always the goody-two-shoes, Potter, or is this just a publicity trick?" he sneered quietly in the young wizard's direction. As expected, Potter turned sharply and narrowed his green eyes when he saw who it was talking to him.

"I won't dignify that with an answer, Snape," he hissed in the same low tone before returning to his former position, his eyes focused on the scene before him, where the Wizengamot judges were now submerged in another one of their arguments. Severus, on the other hand, didn't need to be a Seer to know that Potter was not looking raptly at the judges' table, but at his godson, who most probably would be developing acute _torticollis_ by the end of the hearing as he didn't appear to be able to take his eyes off of the obnoxious Gryffindor; but that didn't surprise Severus, either.

"It seems that the great Harry Potter _does_ live up to his fame... Although, I guess I should be grateful. Your words seem to have persuaded the Wizengamot in Draco's favour, after all," the Potions Master added; the sly smirk still plastered on his face.

"Yes, that's right; unlike _some_ people's," Harry retorted tartly, this time not even caring to turn in the pale man's direction. The Potions Master smirked even more at the opening the Auror had just given him and leaned closer towards the chair in front of him; his thin mouth very near the younger wizard's ear.

"Touché, Potter... But tell me, why do you care what happens to Draco Malfoy, of all people? I am quite intrigued, to tell the truth. Why did you go looking for him this morning? Why would you speak in his name before the tribunal?" Noticing the Auror's suddenly stiff muscles, he moved to give the final blow, his voice like icy velvet. "Why are you so _interested_ in my godson all of the sudden, Potter? And don't lie to me; you know that doesn't... work very well," he added slowly, revelling in the green-eyed wizard's obvious discomfort -which was enough evidence altogether, in Severus' opinion-. However, the Boy Who Lived was saved from answering right at the last second, as Ignatius Fernin suddenly hit the gavel and bellowed to the court:

"The Wizengamot has agreed to accept the evidence."

The audience exploded in murmurs one more time. In front of him, Potter leaned avidly forward in his chair, happy to ignore Severus Snape and his rather sagacious questions in favour of this unexpected –but still very relieving- turn of events. _Bugger_, the Potions Master thought at the sudden interruption; but he had to admit, this was more important than getting Harry Potter all worked-up. So he leaned back in his chair; his pitch-black eyes set on the raven-haired man in front of him.

"Doesn't matter, Potter; I'll deal with you later," Severus drawled under his breath. "Right now, the show must go on."

And sure enough, it did.

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Fifteen minutes later, three guards were placing the largest, strangest-looking Pensieve Harry had ever seen onto a special dais right at the front of the court. It had the same shape regular Pensieves have, decorated with more or less the same runic symbols, but it had some sort of upturned funnel attached at the top, like a stopper, and this funnel had a small tube sticking out from one of its sides. Harry guessed that this small tube was where one poured the memories into the Pensieve, but he couldn't be sure.

The whole tribunal was bubbling with anticipation: people were whispering animatedly to each other -no doubt speculating about what those memories of Dumbledore's would contain- or staring shamelessly at the defendant, who seemed to have every God in the heavens vouching for him. This turn of events, having the Wizengamot change a passed sentence in favour of the accused, was certainly a first-time event in the history of Magical Justice; Hermione would be very disappointed to know she had missed it; a thought that made Harry suddenly wish his best friend were right there with him. He surely needed some moral support.

At the Media Box, the reporters hadn't stopped their broadcast for one second, and their continuous babble had become some sort of anaesthetized buzz in the background. It was well past noon, thus a special permission had been granted by the Chief Warlock to let some food vendors and their trolleys _into_ the courtroom, so now the once glamorous tribunal looked like some kind of indoors fair. In fact, the overall scene -the strange Pensieve at the front, the people munching their Fairy Cakes and sipping their Butterbeers, the magically-dimmed lights- reminded him of regular Muggle cinemas… except, of course, that in those cinemas there weren't Aurors guarding every entrance and there wasn't a photographer popping out of nowhere every two seconds to snap a picture of some of the attendees; him included.

Nevertheless, the whole irony of the situation was not lost on the Golden Boy of the Wizarding World.

Harry could feel Severus Snape's intense gaze on the back of his neck, and it was certainly upsetting him. He was sure that the sneaky Potions Master knew more than he was letting on; those questions of his had been quite devious indeed. Still, the raven-haired wizard wondered to himself, how could he have answered those questions –in the remote assumption that he'd have wanted to answer them- when he himself didn't know why? Why had he run after Malfoy? Why had he been so worried about him? Why had he defended him? Why was he feeling such strong emotions for the haughty Slytherin? Why had he so fervently wished for a miracle that could save him? And why, for Merlin's beard, did he believe so vehemently in his innocence?

Seeing the word 'Perjurer' appear on Draco's face had been a mighty blow for him; it had felt even worse than that time he had watched Snape's memories of his father. It had been the utmost disappointment mixed with pure incredulity. For a feeble moment, Harry had toyed with the possibility that the spell had gone wrong somehow, that it was all a mistake, but he knew the truth: there was no way anybody could have tampered with that charm. Draco had lied, just like Luton and every single person in that tribunal had expected, which meant that he and his instincts had been wrong all along. Or fooled. Or tampered with since the beginning.

That alone had hurt more than anything.

But then, he had seen Draco's eyes, right when he was casting the Binding Charm on the blond. He had looked into Draco's piercing, grey irises -even when he had purposely told himself not to- and he had seen something that had triggered a rush of electricity to run through him: Draco had been… pleading, with his eyes. There had been so many emotions reflected in those orbs in that single instant that Harry hadn't been able –or hadn't wanted, he wouldn't know now- to decipher them. And then the blond had spoken, said only a few words, and Harry had had to look away because he knew he couldn't stand watching such intensity, such desperation in those eyes of molten steel. In that moment, he had gotten so angry with himself for being so weak; for being so naïve, as Ginny had so deliberately put it; for being so stupid, as Ron had so obviously suggested. He should have known that the blond would try _anything_ to get out of it. He shouldn't have looked into Malfoy's eyes. And yet, he had; and he had suddenly become aware, once more, that Draco's eyes were definitely his damnation, for in that exact moment he knew it: he simply _knew_ that Draco was innocent. Even if the blond had lied, or cheated, or tried to play the whole world -and Harry, for that matter- for a fool, Draco _was_ innocent.

And that was all Harry Potter needed to know.

Of course, two seconds after this revelation had taken place and before he could act on it, Dumbledore had appeared out of nowhere, impersonating the miracle Harry had been secretly waiting for all morning. And just as if Fawkes' beautiful trills had washed it away, all of his anger, all of his doubts were put to rest in favour of the most unlikely emotion he could have ever felt: complete and total relief.

Draco was safe.

Now, –and we go back to the main issue, here- why would he feel so relieved about that? What was it about Malfoy that made him so… vulnerable, so _weak_? Why was he feeling this way all of the sudden? Why now?

_Why Malfoy, of all people?_

"Ladies and gentlemen; please remain silent and put during the disclosure of the memories. Remember that the charm won't allow for any sudden movements during the examination; so find the most comfortable position in your seat before we start, and just relax. Any disturbance and the examination will be made private. Thank you."

The Wizengamot Guard's grave tone shook him out of his reveries, and Harry asked himself what the hell the man had been talking about. Sure, he had been an Auror for over two years now, but he had never been present for a 'public memory examination' before. In fact, he was sure that not many of the attendees had had that chance, either. Nevertheless, the Guard's warning didn't make it sound that appealing to begin with.

Harry chanced a glance around the courtroom, and found himself wondering if he had been Portkey-ed without his knowledge to another place.

Everybody was utterly quiet. There wasn't the sound of a quill scratching on parchment; there was no whispering, no murmuring, no gossiping, no munching of food. Everyone was sitting properly in their chairs, and every single pair of eyes was set on the weird Pensieve at the front of the courtroom. Even the Aurors had abandoned their posts and rushed forward to find a seat of their own. Several seats to his right were Ron, Angelina, and Seamus, wearing the same frustrated -maybe even resigned- expressions on their faces, although they weren't saying a word to each other. At the defendant dock, Malfoy and Dumbledore had taken their seats once more –the Headmaster was now sitting in the chair Snape had occupied before- and Harry could tell that they too were concentrating on the Pensieve before them.

The lights dimmed even more. Harry looked up at the strange contraption not really sure of what to expect when he noticed a weird, greenish mist coming out of the funnel's end. It swirled and turned upwards, growing bigger and bigger, until it covered most of the courtroom's ceiling like a huge cloud and Harry had to crane his neck to be able to see it. All of the sudden, his seat reclined itself with a whoosh, and he found himself staring at the foggy ceiling, laying on his back, just as he would if he were lying on a grassy hill, looking up at a starry night. His chair and everyone else's had transfigured themselves into some sort of divan.

And then, it all started. Just as if it were a huge screen, the mist up above started glowing before an image took shape. It was the image of a circular room. There were countless numbers of strange gadgets and artefacts sitting on golden shelves, ticking and emitting white puffs of smoke at different intervals. Several portraits hung on the stone walls, mostly of people, but there were a few depicting mythical animals and fantastic places. There was a great oak desk near the centre of the room, complemented by two equally ornate chairs on each side.

It was Dumbledore's office.

The Headmaster appeared behind the desk, old and wise and twinkly as always. It was then that Harry noticed the woman sitting in the chair opposite him; maybe because of the shocking contrast she made beside him. She had long hair that ran down her back, and it looked like it had once been the purest of gold, but it was now a limp mane of dead, matt straw. She was sitting with the air of someone of the noblest lineage, but the slight curve of her back and the quickened rise and fall of her chest betrayed how weary, how tired she truly was, but also how much she was trying to hide it. Her translucent, almost skeletal hands were shaking as she held a tiny blue flask, which she had been staring at the whole time.

"I'm doing this for the good of my son," she broke the silence, and her voice sounded as if it was meant to be superior and firm but had come out breathy and ragged instead; as if it had taken her a great effort to say that much.

"I know that, Narcissa. I know that you love your son very, very much," Dumbledore said softly; his eyes never leaving the broken figure before him. Mrs. Malfoy suddenly looked up. The woman's face was unearthly pale, and countless lines had obscured her undeniably beautiful features, which –Harry noticed with a gasp- were so much like Draco's. There were ominous, dark rings under her glassy blue eyes, and Harry could see the purple spots on her neck and the part of her shoulders the rich burgundy robes didn't conceal. She looked very, _very_ ill, and Harry found himself thinking that he didn't want to know what was going through Draco's mind right now. Surely, this wasn't the Narcissa Malfoy the blond remembered.

"You must promise me you will help him. You must swear to me he won't face any harm!" she said fiercely, her eyes shining like those of a lioness protecting her cubs, just before she went into a horrible coughing fit. Dumbledore stood up swiftly, no doubt to offer her some help, but she made a gesture with her free hand indicating for him to sit back down, and the old man reluctantly complied. He conjured a glass of water and placed it before her on the desk. The witch waited until the coughing subsided, and breathing heavily, she took the glass and downed its entire contents in no more than three gulps. Dumbledore sighed deeply, looking intently into the woman's eyes.

"You have my honest word, Narcissa. I will do anything within my power to help Draco, but it's you who has to give me the means to do it," the old wizard replied firmly, but Harry noticed the concern behind his words.

Narcissa produced her wand from her robes and she tapped the empty glass with it; the glass refilled itself in a split second. She took a shallow breath, and opening the blue flask with some difficulty, she poured some of the clear liquid into it. "I presume that will be more than enough," she said sharply, her voice rusty and sore. She then took several swigs of the concoction. Almost instantly, her face became expressionless and her eyes didn't seem to be focused on anything anymore, which made her look like she was… dead.

Harry felt a strong, icy hand grab his heart and squeeze it. This woman, he realised, wasn't the Narcissa Malfoy _he_ had met at the Quidditch World Cup. That woman had been so cold, so arrogant, so vain he had thought her incapable of having real feelings for anyone but herself. That woman had looked to him like a porcelain doll; extremely beautiful on the exterior but inexorably empty inside, with eyes that didn't reflect the tenderness in her soul but the way she saw the world surrounding her: meaningless, one-dimensional, _worthless_. This Narcissa Malfoy was completely different from that woman, and Harry knew it had nothing to do with how pale she looked or how obviously sick she was. This woman was exhausted, and yet, her eyes held a gleam of determination that told anyone who cared to see that she would stop at nothing to help her son. This Narcissa Malfoy was clearly _dying_, and yet she was taking whatever desperate measures she needed to take to insure her only child's protection, because she knew she would not be there to protect him herself.

This woman, Harry suddenly realised, was as courageous and resolute as his own mother had been, a long time ago.

"Ask your questions, Dumbledore," she said in a distant, almost resigned tone.

The Headmaster stared at her for a few seconds before he sat up, resting his folded hands on the desk. His blue eyes were no longer twinkling.

"Very well," he said softly. "Why did Draco run away, Narcissa?"

"Because I told him to," she answered slowly. "I didn't want them to find him; they would have killed him if they did. I wasn't going to allow that. They would not harm my only son." In the semidarkness of the courtroom, Harry's heart started beating extremely fast when he heard those words.

"Who wanted to kill Draco, Narcissa? Why would they want to do that?" Dumbledore asked, but his tone hinted that he already knew the answer. Harry grabbed the edge of his chair-turned-divan tightly as he felt shivers of anticipation running up and down his spine. Somehow, he knew the answer to that question as well, and he knew –he simply _knew_- that he was right. This was all they needed to hear, and Draco would be free.

"Rogue Death Eaters," Narcissa said in the same distant, breathy, mechanical tone, and Harry nearly cried out loud. His heart felt as if it was going to explode.

"They knew there had been somebody thwarting their schemes, and they suspected that it was Draco because he had refused to take the Mark, but they hadn't been able to figure out how he had been getting such relevant intelligence when he wasn't in the Circle. They had almost given up, thinking that the leak was from somewhere else, when they found out about Blaise Zabini. The boy told them everything, thinking that his confession would save him. They tortured him to death, and not only because his ineptitude was the cause of the Dark Lord's defeat. They branded the words 'Filthy Poofter' on his chest..." Narcissa trailed off for a second, apparently lost in her own secret fears. Unexpectedly, Harry's heart –which had been hammering like crazy when the words he had so desperately wanted to hear were said- skipped a beat. His eyes were fixed on the magical screen; his mind working at a thousand miles per second to comprehend everything the woman was saying.

"With Zabini's confession, things fell into place. It had been Draco who had found the weak link in their network and had used it to help the enemy. It had been he who had been feeding information to the Order the whole time. He was a pureblood, a Malfoy, and yet he had betrayed their Cause, which was supposed to be _his_ Cause in the first place. But no; Draco had allied himself to Potter, so he was to die as the blood traitor he was," the witch finished coolly, her eyes not blinking once.

There was a collective gasp in the courtroom, followed by the expected exclamations, comments, and whispers that all rolled around like thunder. Harry didn't pay attention to any of it. There were so many emotions rushing through him right now that he felt as if he had stepped into some sort of parallel universe. The gravity of the situation was so much greater than he had ever imagined; it surpassed his wildest dreams, his most crackpot suppositions. It wasn't that Draco hadn't been a Death Eater. It was that Draco had been helping them all along and they never knew it; in fact, they didn't even consider it, because, let's face it, who would have thought _that_ of a Malfoy? They hadn't clapped Draco in irons after that sentence was passed; this whole world had clapped him in irons the day he was born!

Harry's mind was swirling with thoughts. He felt guilty, angry, proud, and astonished all at the same time, and all he wanted to do in that moment was to find him; to find Draco, grab him by the shoulders, force him to look him in the eyes, and tell him… Just tell him that…

Tell him _what_, exactly? Tell him that he had believed him all along? Tell him that he was sorry Draco had had to go through this mess? Tell him that he, Harry, should have acted sooner; that he should have been braver? Tell him something like 'Hey, let's just forgive and forget'? Tell him that he wanted to be his _friend_?

Right in that moment, Harry understood why Draco hadn't said anything about his true role in the war. The answer was quite simple, really, and Harry saw himself reflected in the same mirror:

_Why would you believe me? _

Up above, the memory kept playing its course, oblivious to the attendees' reactions below. The Headmaster in the screen appeared to be lost in his own thoughts for a few minutes, until he sighed tiredly. "So many young ones lost in the war. So many of them forced into such difficult choices, into such hard sacrifices. Yet, I wonder why I didn't see it then..." the old wizard trailed off, and Harry noticed a flicker of some unreadable emotion flashing in his eyes before he cleared his throat and his gaze turned to Narcissa once more.

"It was Draco who sent me that message the day of the Final Battle, wasn't it? He was the one who warned us about the ambush that Lord Voldemort had planned to kill Harry?" he asked, and the aforementioned wizard suddenly felt out of breath.

Surely Dumbledore wasn't referring to..?

Narcissa Malfoy smiled softly, almost timidly in her far-away state, as if she had just seen something beautiful and precious in her mind's eye; something not even Veritaserum had been able to wipe away from her thoughts. And somehow, Harry was certain that that something beautiful had been her son. His heart leapt with some indescribable emotion, and she hadn't uttered a word yet.

"Yes, it was him," she answered simply, firmly.

Irrevocably.

"I should have known as much," Dumbledore said with a tiny smile of his own, although his own eyes hadn't yet recovered the soft glimmer they were so famous for. "Your son is very brave, Narcissa. I am so sorry that I didn't realise all of this a long time ago; it would have made things quite… different…"

Dumbledore's words resonated with a dry echo for a couple of seconds before the Headmaster, Mrs. Malfoy, and the round office with all its curious gadgets and portraits disappeared in a whirlpool of green mist and colour. Before Harry could recover his wits or even start putting them into some semblance of order, the strange fog covering the ceiling glimmered and twirled once more, and it was when fragments of another image started to condense in the magical cloud that he realised that the last and probably most important memory, Mrs. Malfoy's, was about to start. His hands tightened their hold on the divan until he felt his fingers go numb.

Swiftly, another room materialized before his eyes. It was a drawing room. Several armchairs, low tables, and cupboards made of the finest fabrics and woods were scattered around the room in an orderly fashion. There was a soft, amber light bathing the comfortable space, and a soothing crackle came from the fireplace at the far wall. A woman wearing a beautiful blue robe was sitting in one of the armchairs. There was a tray with delicate tea assortments on the table by her side and a book on her silk-clad lap, and she kept twirling one of her immaculate golden curls around her finger as she read peacefully. This time, Harry didn't have much trouble recognising her. It was Narcissa Malfoy; the one he remembered.

There was a soft knock before the sound of a door being opened was heard and the woman looked up, closing her book, her face set in a cold mask. Said mask vanished after a second and her features broke into an honest, candid smile; one Harry would have never imagined seeing on that woman's face.

"My little Dragon is home!"

"I've got an Apparition Licence, Mother. You can stop calling me that, did you know?" an all too familiar voice drawled from somewhere in the room, and Harry felt a bolt of lightning flashing through his insides. Draco, the arrogant boy he had always known, the Slytherin Prince, the bane of his school existence, made his way towards his mother and kneeled before her, taking her in an embrace that surprised the raven-haired wizard with its tenderness. His pale, juvenile face was set in his trademark smirk, but there was a warm glow in his grey eyes that made them shine like molten silver instead of the frozen mercury Harry was so used to. Narcissa laughed soundly; a pristine, crystalline sound; and leaned back to look into her child's face, cupping his cheeks with her hands.

"I'll call you whatever I want. Mother's privileges," she said, ignoring her son's scowl. "So, tell me everything. How was the ride home?" Draco blushed slightly -a gesture that the Harry in the courtroom found incredibly endearing for some reason- before he cleared his throat and his face was once again the mask of easy indifference he always wore.

"It was alright. It rained a little, though."

Narcissa arched a pale eyebrow. "That's it? No spectacular mischievous accomplishment? No creating mass hysteria? No terrorizing the trolley lady? My. Are you felling ill, my darling? Otherwise I might think you're growing up!" Draco adopted an affronted expression, his scowl deepening.

"I resent that," he said with his nose in the air, crossing his arms over his chest. Narcissa smiled once again, and he returned the gesture promptly, although making it look like it took him a great effort.

"Seriously, my Dragon. We haven't talked much these past couple of weeks. How was the Leaving Feast?" she asked, taking her son's hands in hers. The blond boy shrugged.

"It was… ok, I guess. Slytherin lost both cups again this year," he said grumpily, and Harry was somewhat perplexed to realise that there hadn't been any real malice behind his words, just annoyance. His mother gave him a knowing look.

"Well, I'm sure it wasn't because you didn't try your best, darling; especially with that Potter boy being…"

"It didn't have anything to do with Ha… Potter, Mother," Draco cut in quickly; his eyes narrowing slightly. Narcissa looked quite baffled for a second; her blue eyes looking intently at her son. Oblivious to the now incessant murmur going on in the courtroom, Harry frowned in his own puzzlement; his eyes glued to the screen over his head. Had he heard correctly? Had Malfoy almost said..?

"Anyway; there's something important I must talk to you about," Draco said, standing up to take the armchair besides his mother's. Narcissa's eyes followed her son's movements, and Harry was taken aback when he noticed that her expression had turned once again cold and detached in a matter of seconds; she now looked downright intimidating. It was as if the content, loving Narcissa Malfoy had never existed. Malfoy was now seated, and his face too had changed into an unreadable mask. It seemed to Harry as if an invisible breeze had come in through the windows and had turned the once comfortable room into a chilly, grey place.

"Very well. Speak your mind, my son," Mrs. Malfoy said stiffly after she had put her book next to the tea tray on the small table. Her back was straight and her long neck extended; her hands were elegantly placed, folded, on her lap. Draco fumbled with a silver band on his right hand's ring finger for a few moments, staring at it, before he cleared his throat and looked up at his mother's face; his expression serious and remarkably… mature, Harry thought.

"Mother, I've decided to…"

"That ring has been passed on for generation to generation in your family; did you know that, my son? It belonged to your grandfather and his father, it belonged to Lucius, and now it belongs to you. I hope you understand the meaning of it," Narcissa cut in sternly, without remorse, her blue eyes weighing on her son. "Have you forgotten your duties, your responsibilities as the last Malfoy Heir?"

"I've not forgotten who or what I am, Mother; you and Father made it certain that I remember that for the rest of my life," Draco nearly hissed, his eyes like frozen quicksilver. "As you've just made it easier, I wanted to tell you that I've decided that it's time I started making my own duties, my own responsibilities… my _own_ choices," he finished somewhat cautiously.

"If this is about that ridiculous idea of yours Severus told me about, then rest assured, Draco, that I won't allow you to…" Draco stood up swiftly, interrupting his mother so rudely with such an uncharacteristic action that she looked for the most fleeting of moments as if she had just been slapped.

"I don't need nor am I asking for your permission. I'm going to do it, whether you want it, like it, or not, Mother," he said firmly. Narcissa didn't even flinch. In fact, she looked colder than ever, but there was something about the way she was holding her freshly-served cup of tea -white-knuckled- that made Harry think it was just a façade. Not that he blamed her; Draco was on the verge of mutiny.

"Well, Draco, darling; then that means that you're not going back to Hogwarts next year." Her tone was dry, hinting the end of the conversation. The blond boy merely laughed sardonically in response as he paced the room. The raven-haired Auror was completely taken aback by this show of disrespect.

"Do you really think that me not going back to Hogwarts will change something; that it will actually stop me? This world is at war, Mother. It doesn't matter how much you try to hide; it will find you sooner or later. And I, for the first time in my life, won't hide; don't _want_ to hide. Father wanted me to become a Death Eater. I certainly don't see where the big difference lies," he drawled, stopping to look out the large window, his rigid back facing his mother.

"All your father wanted was for you to become the great wizard you were born to be, Draco; the _Malfoy_ you have to be," Narcissa said in a controlled tone as she put her cup of tea down a little more roughly than she probably intended. The fine piece of china clattered on its saucer.

"The Malfoy I _have _to be!" Draco spat, turning from his spot by the window. "Let me tell you what being a 'Malfoy' really means, Mother." He took off his ring hastily and held it in front of him for his mother to see. "For the last hundred years this family has been carrying a burden that has never been ours to begin with. We've followed the orders of whatever madman that comes into existence like lapdogs, be it Grindelwald, Voldemort, or whoever strikes our fancy; deluding ourselves with prospects of power and gold, just because we seem incapable of thinking with our own heads, of making our own rules. And look where that has taken us!" the blond said loudly, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. "My grandfather's body was found in a swamp. My father is rotting in prison. All of our money, all of our so-called prestige, all of our power… it's gone, Mother! We are nothing! The Malfoy name means _nothing_! We're living off of charity, for Salazar's beard! And all of that in the name of what, exactly? In the name of 'pure' blood? Well, all of our blasted pure blood and our ideals of superiority won't keep us alive; did you know _that_! But I suppose that dying with a Dark Mark stamped on your arm makes it all worthwhile!"

Mrs. Malfoy stared at her soon with wide eyes and her face was paler than ever. She looked very much like Harry's aunt Petunia used to when she had spotted some particularly nasty water stain on her silverware. Mrs. Malfoy stood up in a swift motion, losing all pretences of glamour and self-control.

"How dare you speak to me like this? How dare you say those things about your family?" Narcissa said fiercely, taking a step towards Draco. Her blue eyes were as cold and ominous as her son's.

"No, Mother. How dare _you_ try to follow Lucius' steps and control my life after everything that's happened? I thought that all the things we've been through since Father's imprisonment had taught you something!" Draco replied harshly, his grey eyes flaring and his whole posture tall and imposing as he stepped towards his mother; stopping when he was standing right before her. Narcissa gaped at him, seemingly at a loss for words, for an indeterminable amount of time.

"It's _you_ who hasn't learned anything!" the woman suddenly cried. Her features were now strained with fear. There was a telltale glimmer in her eyes. She grabbed her son by the arms and shook him roughly as she looked up at him. She was practically shaking herself. It was obvious that she had reached the breaking point of her endurance, and Harry understood that all of that coldness and arrogance were just the defence mechanisms of an extremely fragile, helpless woman.

"Do you know what will happen to you if you're caught? Do you realise what he'll do to you if he finds out you denied him and turned to the other side? I can't let you endanger your life like this, Draco! You're my only son! I won't send you to your death!"

"If I die, so be it! At least that means that I was doing _something_!" Draco jerked himself free of his mother's hold. "Don't you see, Mother? This year has taught me that I've always taken things for granted; that my whole life had revolved around things that didn't matter! And do you know what the worst of everything was? Realising that I was nothing without Father's power; that I was nothing without our money, simply because I hadn't done anything, _anything_ to earn something for myself! Well, now I have something to fight for, something to care for! And I intend to hold on to it for as long as I can, even if it means having to go against a thousand Dark Lords!"

"Child, you don't know what you're talking about! See yourself in your father's mirror, for Salazar's name!" Narcissa looked desperate. Tears were cascading freely down her cheeks now. If anything, Draco appeared even more determined. His fists were closed at his sides and his face was a mask of iron.

"I've been seeing myself in my Father's mirror for far too long. Is that what you want? Do you want me to end up like him? Well, I'm sorry to say this, Mother, but that's not going to happen. I refuse to be my father!" Draco roared, and Narcissa appeared to have lost it completely with that statement, because she flung herself to her son's feet; grabbing the folds of his robes as if they were a lifeline; looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"My son, Draco, I beg you! Don't do this! Please, don't do this!"

Draco looked surprised for a moment before he crouched on the floor, taking his mother's hands from his clothes. His face was now a mix of disgust and irritation. "Stop it, Mother!" he said, but the woman didn't hear him. She was just crying and sobbing; muttering the same pleas over and over again; her eyes lost and her face contorted with dread.

"Mother, control yourself!" he said fiercely, grabbing her by the forearms. Narcissa stopped her diatribe and stared at her only child, aghast. It was as if she had stopped breathing.

"I… I lost Lucius… I couldn't bear losing you as well!" Her tone was desolate, nearly a howl of pain. Draco appeared indolent to his mother's words and tears.

"I'm going to do it, Mother, and I won't let you stop me."

The resolution in that sentence sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine, making the little hairs on the back his neck stand up. He couldn't hear anything past Draco's voice. He couldn't focus on anything that wasn't Draco's face in the memory before him: passionate, determined, bold. It was as if it was only him in that courtroom… him and a Draco Malfoy he thought he had all figured out, and who Harry now realised he had never known at all. He had stopped trying to analyze all he was witnessing a long time ago. Right in that moment, Harry was just letting these revelations wash over him, overwhelming him, numbing him, tearing him apart; demolishing all of the preconceived notions he had had of that complete stranger that was Draco Lucius Malfoy; his childhood archenemy, his school rival, his unlikely comrade.

His secret guardian.

"Why, Draco? _Why_?" Narcissa breathed, cupping her son's face in her hands; her own face red and puffy with tears. Draco looked intently into his mother's watery eyes for a few moments, and suddenly, his face softened ever so slightly, and his lips turned into a saddened smile.

Mrs. Malfoy stared at him, mouth agape, as if those irises of molten silver had just let her see something nobody else could understand.

Draco nodded softly to some unspoken question; his joyless smile turning a bit more pronounced, his hand going up to tilt his mother's chin up with such gentleness and care it took Harry's breath away.

"Because I have to, Mother. Because I couldn't bear losing him..."

Before the raven-haired Auror could understand, could even _begin_ to rationalize what the Draco in the memory had just said, the drawing room and its occupants, the green mist, the semidarkness… it all disappeared in the blink of an eye.

ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº

"Draco? We can go now, my boy."

The blond wizard looked up.

Dumbledore was standing right beside him with his godfather; both men looking satisfied to different degrees. The old wizard gestured around with a soft smile on his face, indicating that, indeed, the hearing was over and it was time to go. The last group of attendees was leaving the courtroom animatedly, some of them still drinking their Butterbeers, discussing and recounting the events as they exited. There were Ministry Officers taking care of the cleaning and readjusting of seats with their wands, and several Aurors were standing post at the doors, ensuring everyone's orderly departure. The presidential table was now deserted and the Pensieve had been removed from the premises. On the other side of the courtroom, Luton and his assistant were roughly putting parchments, quills, and folders away with incredibly sour expressions on their faces. With two identical murderous glares in their direction, the two officers left the courtroom through the side door in haste; no doubt not wanting to come across any journalists in their flight.

"I know. Let's go," Draco said coldly as he stood up, stone-faced, from his chair at the defendant dock. Dumbledore simply eyed his Potions Master briefly before the three men started leaving through the centre aisle. Severus was about to turn in the direction of the side door when the Headmaster halted his progress.

"Right this way, Severus," the old man said indicating the now closed oak doors at the end of the courtroom. "Mr. Malfoy is leaving this tribunal as an innocent man, thus he will exit it through the main gates, like everybody else."

The Potions Master glanced at Dumbledore with an obvious urge to roll his eyes. "Do you know what is waiting for Draco on the other side?" The Headmaster's smile grew wider, if that was possible.

"Why, Severus. The world as he never knew it," he said, blue eyes twinkling, as he placed a kind hand on Draco's shoulder, ignoring the hard grey eyes and the tight jaw 'politely' requesting the immediate removal of the extremity. "Now, let's hurry. Fawkes is getting a bit restless." As if on cue, the phoenix perched on the ancient wizard's shoulder gave a loud trill and batted its beautiful wings, conveying his agreement.

They reached the main doors and two Aurors nodded reverently to the Headmaster before opening them. As expected, thousands of flashes blinded their sight the moment the wizards stepped outside the courtroom. Just like before, two Ministry Officers joined them to flank their way to the lifts; this time showing much more courtesy towards the young Malfoy.

There was a mass of people conglomerated in the great hall, all of them wanting a closer look at the newly-proclaimed 'war hero' of the Wizarding Wold. Reporters were asking their highly irrelevant questions, mostly associated to Mr. Malfoy's romantic life and what he was planning to do now that he was once again the richest bachelor in Wizarding Britain –not to mention a possible candidate for the Order of Merlin-. Regular onlookers and former attendees were shouting watchwords and other unintelligible declarations of diverse kinds; some of the most frenzied –mostly female, but there were some wizards bubbling in the lot as well- were even asking for autographs and shouting outrageous requests and proposals, which were not all as innocent as the 'I love you!' and the 'Marry me!' types. All things considered, the harassed group was more or less acceptably responsive… if the couple selected words from the Headmaster, the loud, irritated thrills from Fawkes at so much unwanted petting, and the two snappy expressions on the two former Slytherins' faces were anything to go by, of course.

Finally, and not with small struggle, they got into one of the magical elevators at the end of the hall, and Severus hurriedly pushed one of the buttons. The doors closed swiftly, as if understanding the need for a quick escape, and with a soft 'clink' the apparatus started its smooth way upwards. In the relative privacy of the elevator, the three men let out a relieved sigh. Even the mythical bird seemed quite happy to be able to spread its wings and tail without the threat of somebody wanting to pluck one of its valuable feathers.

"Well, that was not so hard," Dumbledore said, eyeing his younger companion with curiosity and hidden concern. The young Malfoy had been utterly quiet since the disclosure of the memories; his face set in an expressionless mask, but the Headmaster knew it was just a well-practised act to conceal the simmering emotions beneath. Today had been quite the splinching episode for the boy, even if Draco was still standing right next to him in one piece. The old man held the tired sigh that threatened to escape his lips. The easy part was conquered; the real test was merely beginning.

"Lemon Sherbet, anyone?" he asked affably, taking out a small package from his robes, but both Severus and Draco refused; one with a somewhat annoyed "No, thanks", the other with stubborn indifference. The tension was exuding from the blond wizard in waves; the storm was right there, building up, waiting for the perfect moment to break loose. This had to be managed with the utmost subtlety. Dumbledore wondered if he could send his dear Potions Master on a Skrewt hunt once they reached Hogwarts, but he doubted Severus would find that amusing.

The Weird Sisters were playing one of their hits around them; their melancholic tune quite depressing background music, in Dumbledore's opinion. He certainly would have preferred one of Celestina Warbeck's more cheery songs, but maybe the Fates were already conspiring and the mood was being set up for what was to come. Again, he held back another tired sigh. It seemed there was never peace for a brilliant mind. Of course, only Time would tell whose particular mind was being discussed. Hopefully –even if it sounded completely inconsiderate- it wasn't his own.

A couple of seconds later, there was a delicate ring and a loud 'clank', and the elevator doors opened effortlessly. The ancient wizard wasn't surprised to find an empty, softly lit hallway as their greeting instead of the busy, noisy, crammed-full Main Hall of the Ministry of Magic. That's the way it is with magical buildings: they seem to react and somehow accommodate to its inhabitants needs; a property that was certainly appreciated in times like these. Stepping out and not pausing to verify that his companions were following, he sprinted forward in the narrow passageway, star-splashed purple robes billowing behind him, under the questioning glances of the portraits hanging on both stone walls until he reached a small wooden door with a sign that read 'Nowhere's End' in bold, golden letters at the end of the hallway. After a few taps with his wand, the small door flung open, revealing a small street that looked very much like a side alley; scattered rubbish cans, stray dogs, hideous smells and all.

"Good, good," Dumbledore nodded, satisfied, as he stood in the doorway, inspecting both sides of the alley for witnesses. "I imagined no-one would think of this exit," he said in explanation to the somewhat disgusted expressions on Severus' and Draco's faces. The older wizard suddenly rummaged for something inside his robes before he produced what looked alarmingly close to a cuckoo clock. He eyed it airily, smiling softly to himself, before putting it in one of his pockets once again. His two companions glanced at each other questioningly before shrugging the strange behaviour off as one of the man's many eccentricities. Stepping outside into the empty side street, Dumbledore beckoned the other two to follow. Once the three wizards were outside in the Muggle Sector of the city, the wooden door closed automatically and a brick wall now stretched, unperturbed, on both sides of the abandoned warehouse they had just left.

"Albus, I thought you wanted a more… public departure. Surely we could have Portkey-ed from the main hall?" Severus asked obfuscated, glancing around the dirty alley to convey his point.

"Ah, Severus, sometimes a small glimpse is just enough," Dumbledore said cryptically, blue eyes twinkling madly. "Now, do you have that Portkey? We only have fourteen more minutes, if I'm not mistaken." The Potions Master nodded, producing a bended spoon from his robes inner pocket and handing it to his employer with no slight annoyance etched on his pale face.

"Are we going to stay here until the bloody Portkey activates? Couldn't we just wait inside, where it's warm?" Draco asked snappishly, tugging at his robes. Severus and the Headmaster exchanged significant looks, although neither of the two men was exactly sure of the extent of the other wizard's knowledge. Before any one of them could elaborate, however, there was a loud 'clang' and the sound of hurried footsteps running towards them.

"Wait!" The three wizards swiftly turned in the direction the voice had come from to find a very flustered Harry Potter on the corner of the street, just a dozen meters away from them. "Professor Dumbledore, sir, I thought you'd left," the man gasped, his raven-black hair wild and his glasses askew, bent at the waist and hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Fawkes took flight and went to sit on Harry's shoulder, trilling enthusiastically as it nibbled at jet strands.

"Oh, Harry, my boy! So nice of you to see us off," Dumbledore beamed, gesturing for the Auror to come closer to where they stood. The nearly panicked expression that crossed the blond wizard's face didn't escape the Headmaster's all knowing eyes, though, and his lips turned up in a discrete, tender smile as he watched both young men. Harry Potter grinned as he walked towards the group, petting Fawkes' magnificent plumage.

"The Ministry is in complete mayhem. Everybody's wondering how you escaped without them noticing. I remembered this exit and thought you'd use it as a quiet way out," Harry said as his eyes glanced at the visibly irritated blond man standing a few feet away from him, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"As much as I'd love to think you came here looking for me to say hello, Harry, I know there must be something else. What is it, my boy?" The Headmaster smiled as Harry suddenly turned wide, green eyes in his direction.

"I… I wanted to have a word with Malfoy, sir," he said firmly -never mind the initial hesitation- as he looked openly at the aforementioned blond wizard.

Draco eyes snapped up in Potter's direction. He appeared at a loss for actions as he glanced from one older wizard to the other, but neither of them seemed willing to provide any ideas; even his godfather appeared to be enjoying this little show, if his raised eyebrow really meant amusement, as he suspected. Scowling deeply and ignoring the quickened rhythm of his heart, the blond settled for that same old, well-known script.

"Are you keeping up the harassment, Potter? Didn't you get enough entertainment for one day?" he spat, fully aware that his swelling anger was not _entirely_ directed at the annoying hero in that particular moment -and certainly _not_ willing to acknowledge the other infinitely more disturbing emotions the mere sight of this imbecile provoked in him- but being unable to react in any other way nevertheless. This was customary; this was expected from both of them. This was… safe. He needed 'safe' right now.

"Now now, Draco; I'm sure Harry didn't come all the way here to pick a fight with you. Why don't you hear what he has to say?" Dumbledore chuckled softly. Harry looked a bit put out.

"No… It's ok, Professor. I'm really sorry. I better…"

"Mr. Malfoy might growl quite a bit, Harry, but I don't think he bites; not hard, anyway," Dumbledore interrupted him, pointedly ignoring the various reactions his casual comment elicited in the three men in his company. The Headmaster then glanced in the blonde's direction, offering him one of his infuriatingly innocent smiles as if he had no idea whatsoever of the thousand different meanings the words he had just said could have.

Draco stared at him, mouth gaping and reaching boiling point. Knowing that his control was wearing thin, he swallowed hard a couple of times and turned to look at the sky above, inhaling deeply, before the thought of doing something incredibly stupid became much more appealing.

The brat's voice snatched his attention from the waltzing clouds.

"Well, I just… I needed to tell Malfoy that I… that I…" the Gryffindor stuttered, looking up at the bird perched on his shoulder as if asking for assistance. Fawkes didn't seem inclined to help him, though, for he gave another loud trill and flew back to his rightful owner, leaving Harry feeling incredibly exposed, for some reason.

"You're wasting your time, Potter. I'm not interested in anything you could say." Draco's arms were tightly crossed over his chest, as if he was really cold, and his eyes were resolutely set on everything but the man in front of him. Severus did roll his eyes this time.

"What nonsense!" the Potions Master snapped. "Speak your mind now, Potter. We have a Portkey to catch in approximately…" he took out a chain watch and inspected it, "six minutes, and as amusing as I used to find this childish vendetta of yours, it's starting to grate on my nerves."

The acidic tone of his godfather made Draco look –albeit reluctantly- at the intended. Harry appeared as if he had just realised what a moronic thing he had done by coming there. The blond could actually see the twist of emotions playing on his face; from annoyance, to anger, to finally red-cheeked embarrassment. Draco felt that strange, pixie-eaten-alive type of fluttery sensation in his stomach again, which only added to his galloping aggravation and not only because he had the sudden impulse to smack his godfather for speaking so harshly to Potter. Still, it was right there, urging him to do _something_. There was no way out of it.

_Oh, Hell! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! _

With a mighty, long-suffering exhalation he walked cautiously towards Harry. The Auror appeared surprised to see him approaching him, and that gave Draco some amount of resolve. He stopped when he was right in front of the infuriating man and out of ear shot from the others.

"Look, Potter, I…"

"Malfoy, I wanted to say that…"

Realising that they were interrupting each other's sentences, an awkward silence sprang between them until it became almost unbearable. Steel grey eyes were locked intensely with forest green, just as it had happened hours ago, but it felt different this time. They stood there for a couple of minutes, saying nothing, just staring at each other, weighing each other's reactions, assessing each other's gestures.

"Thank you."

Just as the words tumbled out of their mouths, they understood that it hadn't been some sort of echo around them, but the other saying the very same thing he just had, at the very same time. The realisation was nearly a tangible push backwards; it sent both their hearts beating at incredibly high rates and a sense of déjà vu through their systems.

"Draco, we need to go," Severus informed warily from somewhere behind them. Both men ignored him, so caught up as they were in their shocked silence.

The blond was the first to recover, though. He cleared his throat curtly, but Harry could see the puzzlement, the uneasiness in his eyes and in the way he clenched his jaw and pressed his arms tightly over his chest. He could see it because he felt it, too, but it didn't mean he understood what was going on. Draco looked at him meaningfully, as if he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking about, and sighed heavily.

"Look, Potter. Thank you for what you did today. You didn't have to… vouch for me like that. There. That's all I needed to say," he finished stiffly, quite aware of the two pairs of eyes watching his and Harry's every move and feeling quite desperate to end this… whatever it was as soon as possible; to leave this utterly upsetting man's presence as fast as he could. Harry Potter was unbalancing him in ways he never thought possible, and yes, no matter how much he'd hate himself for admitting it, he was scared. He didn't want to deal with the implications. He didn't want to think about what all of this could mean; not right now. There were just too many thoughts running around in his head; to many things to figure out, to analyse, to understand. There were too many weird emotions on the loose already. This was not the moment to wonder why Harry bloody Potter affected him as much as he did; that was one inner dilemma he was planning to stall for as long as he could.

Draco turned to leave, but a hand grabbed him swiftly by the forearm, sending an electrical shock through his arm to the rest of his body. He winced visibly at the unexpected sensation –which only accomplished pushing him more towards the edge of losing it completely- and glared at Potter with what he hoped looked like irritation. Harry had the nerve to look sheepish for a second, but then his face broke into a soft smile. His emerald eyes were glowing with hope, and Draco was finding it very hard to breathe properly. He needed to get out of there, and fast, but Potter didn't seem to be willing to let go any time soon.

"Draco…" Severus repeated, this time a bit more exasperated. Harry glanced in the sour man's direction before turning back to look him in the eye.

"Listen to me, please! It's me who should thank you," the raven-haired wizard said hastily. "I didn't… I never knew… about the ambush, about your help… I thought it had been Snape that… You saved my life, Draco. If it hadn't been for those memories, for your mother's, I would have never guessed…"

Harry had a thousand things more to say, but all of his words were caught in his throat. Draco's face suddenly turned into the same mask of iron Harry had seen in that memory. His eyes were narrowed into slits of frozen mercury and he could actually feel the chill radiating from him. It made him release the slender man's arm and take a small step backwards.

"_Don't_…"

The command was as cold and unforgiving as those eyes. Harry felt suddenly bereft and confused. What had he done wrong now? What..?

"Draco, I…"

"This conversation is over. And it's 'Malfoy' to you, Potter. Don't ever forget that."

Draco felt a pang of guilt shoot across his chest as he said those harsh words and watched the hurt in Harry's eyes -just as he had seen back in that restroom- but he swallowed it back to wherever it had come from. Turning swiftly on his heels, he walked towards the two wizards now staring at him with inquiring expressions on their faces; pain and anger making it easy for him to ignore the feeling of bewildered eyes on the back of his neck.

"Malfoy, wait!" Harry cried, but even when he wanted to run after the blond, he couldn't move from where he was. It was as if his feet were cemented to the pavement. A few meters away from him, Draco was yanking the sparkling blue Portkey from his godfather's hands, ignoring both his and Dumbledore's questions and shaking with rage. "Let's go!" the blond spat, and the visibly flabbergasted wizards had only a couple of seconds to take hold of the activating Portkey before a beam of blue light engulfed them in a cocoon, and with a loud 'crack', they were gone.

Harry Potter stood there in the deserted street for what seemed like a long time, staring at the empty spot the others had occupied moments ago; his heart aching and his mind going wild. He didn't understand anything that had just happened, from his almost manic desire to see Draco after the hearing had ended, to their strange conversation, to the way the blond had snapped for no apparent reason. His whole being felt overwhelmed with emotions, and there was this urgent need inside him to make sure that Draco was ok, that he knew that Harry believed he was a good man; that he knew that Harry was… sorry, for everything and for nothing at all. No matter if the blond pushed him away or told him to go to Hell or even tried to kill him for that matter, Harry _had_ to let him know; he _needed_ Draco to know he cared.

Although, exactly why he cared so much in the first place… that was something the raven-haired man didn't know himself.

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There was a whirl of wind and colour, accompanied by the most uncomfortable 'tugging' behind his navel, but once the world righted itself under his feet again, his anger and the desire to hit something hadn't diminished a single fraction.

He opened his eyes and he found himself in a round, lighted room. The furniture looked ancient but well kept, and there was a soft, lingering sweetness in the air -like the smell of small children, or maybe candy- that was surprisingly soothing, but not soothing enough to settle his flying temper. He had never stepped foot in this office, but he knew where he was, because of those damn memories. He remained immobile for a short while, staring at the floor and breathing heavily, trying to cling to the remaining bits of self-control he knew he didn't have.

"Draco, my boy, take a seat, please." The patronizing tone used in that simple sentence was the last straw. He turned in the direction of the voice, fists closed and grey eyes smoking. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, totally calm, looking at him with the most annoying, understanding expression on his face. His godfather was standing by the large windows, arms crossed over his chest, appraising him with those calculating, obsidian eyes of his. He felt as if he was being examined, and that alone fuelled his already flaring anger.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" Draco roared, blowing a chair out of his way with his bare hands. "Don't you think you've done enough already?" The old man didn't even blink.

"What do you think I've done, my boy?" Again, that soft, indulgent tone. Draco felt a rumbling, overwhelming wave of iridescent ire surging upwards from the pit of his stomach, every single cell in his being burned in its wake, placing crimson lenses before his eyes.

"What do I think you've done? _What_ _do I think_...? You goddamned son of a bitch!" Draco yelled, launching himself against the desk. Slender –albeit unthinkably strong- arms caught him before he reached his objective, though, and he felt his body arching and twisting to free itself from its restrains. It was as if he wasn't part of his own skin anymore, as if his brain had shut down and his body was being commandeered by an animalistic entity. He was blinded by the need to cause pain, to destroy; to hurt as much as he was hurting. His angered cries and growls were making his throat sore, but he didn't care. For once in his life, he just didn't give a damn about losing it completely. Sometimes, enough was simply enough.

"Draco, calm down!" his godfather demanded. The words only made him angrier, more frustrated, and even harder to contain.

"Let me go! God damn it, let me go!" His whole face felt like it was on fire. His arms and legs kept flailing and thrashing around, wanting to hit something, and his jaw ached from the pressure his clenched teeth were causing. But he welcomed it; he embraced the pain in his strained joints and muscles, in his throat that was screamed raw, in the pounding of his head; anything to forget the aching emptiness in his heart.

"Severus, release him. He needs to vent his grief," Dumbledore said softly; his expression sad and his face looking older than ever. With an inquiring, almost sceptical look in the old wizard's direction, the Potions Master let go of his godson.

It was immediate. With a mighty roar, the blond wizard grabbed hold of the first thing he found in his way and threw it as hard as he could over his head. The delicate glass sphere smashed loudly against the stone wall, splinters flying everywhere, but even though the shattering sound made him feel good, it wasn't enough to placate the beast inside. The shelves and the weird artefacts sitting on top of the desk were next; they all tumbled to the ground with a loud crash, puffing smoke and screeching in pain, but it wasn't enough. The tapestries, the portraits, the porcelain figurines on the mantel above the fireplace… they all fell victims to the young wizard's wrath, and still it wasn't enough. Draco screamed and yelled and shouted, hit himself on the head, pulled at his hair, but it wasn't enough. The whole world would never be enough.

He collapsed in a broken heap on the floor. One by one, the sobs rocked his body, breaking the last walls of the dam, opening the floodgates of his sorrow. Utterly exhausted and with nothing else to lose, he allowed himself to be weak, to admit defeat, for the very first time in his life. He cried.

Suddenly, a pair of gentle, tentative hands held his shoulders, but he didn't have the spirit to push them away. Albus Dumbledore was crouching next to him; his blue eyes open, concerned. Behind Dumbledore, Severus remained alert, although his pale, always impassive face showed his own apprehension.

"Why?" Draco's voice was rusty from so much screaming. "Why did you do it? Why did you use her like that?"

"I did what she told me to do, my boy; what was needed to help you. I'm sorry if it hurt you, but it needed to be done," the Headmaster answered softly.

"Rubbish! I didn't ask for your help!" Draco felt his anger returning at those meagre words. He stood up with sheer stubbornness as his drive, staring at the Headmaster with hatred in his eyes. The ancient wizard looked up at him for a short while before standing up himself with a long sigh and going to sit behind his desk once more, which was – amazingly - the only thing in his office that remained unscathed.

"That is enough, Draco," Severus warned. Draco turned to look at him with the same contempt on his face.

"You!" His stormy grey eyes narrowed. "You knew about this the whole time! You let him do it! How _could _you?"

"Like Dumbledore said, it had to be done, Draco. Narcissa wanted it, and it was your only way out," Severus replied firmly, almost harshly. Draco snorted.

"Fucking liar," he spat, and his godfather looked completely bewildered by the statement. "Everything is a fucking lie! I wouldn't mind being in Azkaban right now if I knew what you were willing to do to 'help me out'!"

"You're out of line, young man," Severus seethed, not understanding his godson's accusations but not willing to let him get the upper hand, either. It had been a trying day for the blond, granted, but some things were unacceptable no matter the circumstances.

"Severus, let Draco speak," Albus said calmly; his blue eyes set on the blond wizard.

"You were the mastermind behind it all, weren't you?" Draco snapped at Dumbledore. "Wasn't enough showing her broken and ill to the world? No, of course not! You had to make her beg in front of them all, didn't you? My father might be a Dark Wizard and a Death Eater, but he certainly was right about you. You are a manipulative, sick bastard!"

"Draco, _enough_! What the hell is the matter with you?" the Potions Master roared, crossing the small distance that separated him from his godson, wanting to grab the wizard and shake some sense into him. "You will apologize to Albus this instant! The man saved your life, for Salazar's name!" Draco ignored him; he just kept his eyes trained on the old wizard before him. "Tell me why you did it. Tell me why you forged that memory!" Dumbledore's face became puzzled for a split second before something akin to comprehension settled in his eyes and regret marred his aging features. Severus looked from one wizard to the other, flummoxed.

"What do you mean, he forged the memory? Narcissa herself provided it! Dumbledore, what is Draco talking about?" The Potions Master's tone was anxious, nearly alarmed. The Headmaster remained silent; blue eyes betraying raucous thinking.

"I'm just saying that he lied," Draco stated simply, still staring at Dumbledore with frozen eyes. "The memory wasn't my mother's. That memory was fake," he hissed as he placed his hand on the Headmaster's desk, looking rather intimidating. The old wizard looked as if he hadn't even noticed the sudden invasion of his personal space. There was a pensive expression on his face, and he kept muttering under his breath, as if he were running equations over in his mind

"Draco, explain yourself, for Merlin's beard!" Severus was feeling the telltale throbbing of a migraine in the back of his head. His godson regarded him with a devious smirk.

"What part don't you understand? The memory is a phoney, fake; it's not real. And it's not real because…"

"You don't remember it ever happening," Dumbledore said slowly, as if he had just discovered the thirteenth use of dragon's blood, or found the final piece of a puzzle which had been lost for a very long time. His tone made Draco turn swiftly in his direction. Somehow, it didn't make him feel as victorious as it should have; instead, it sent a bolt of cold lightning across his chest.

"Can somebody explain to me what's going on?" Severus barked out after he noticed the odd looks going back and forth between the two wizards. Dumbledore sighed, but there was a satisfied –albeit small- smile on his face. He took out his wand, and with a gentle flick, the two chairs that had been knocked over during Draco's breakdown were set neatly before the desk.

"Severus, Draco; please, take a seat. I'm afraid this is going to be a long talk."

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TBC…

Author Notes: Oh My! The plot thickens! Liked it? Hated it? You know what to do: Feed the starving writer!


	7. A Long Road Lies Ahead

**Author: **Etherea.

**Rating: M **(Sexual Situations and Foul Language)

**Disclaimer: **Blah, blah, blah. Don't own, don't sue. I am penniless. In fact, I'm at the very verge of being kicked out of my house, so yeah… you got the idea.

**Author Note: **So… Finally! It's been quite a long time since the last update. I'm really, really sorry, you guys. Regrettably, my life has been going through some rough waters, and writing has been very difficult. Nevertheless, here I present to thee ED, Chapter Six. Another _long_ chapter. Lots of explanations and even more questions arise... or so I think. Unbeta-ed as of yet. I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer... I just hope it's not too terrible! Also, I wanted to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for such wonderful reviews. Your words have certainly helped me go through some of my days, and I really, _really_ appreciate it. So, keep them coming! ºcheeky grinº

In another note, I guess I need to warn you first: **There is some lemony action in this chapter! **It's not really graphic or anything (I'm reserving the more 'heated stuff' for later on –when you read this you'll understand why). Anyway, I hope you won't end up hating me after reading this chapter… What can I say? The characters have a mind of their own sometimes. Oh well! I won't babble anymore. On with it!

Oh, oh… Wait! I wanted to dedicate this chapter to Elder Amelia, from Adult Fan Fiction. Your words meant a lot to me, honey. They made my whole week! Thank you so much!

And… thanks to Enchant and the Seraph for Beta-ing this chapter! LOVE YOU GIRLS!

Enjoy! ;)

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter Six**

A Long Road Lies Ahead

"Severus, Draco, please, take a seat. I'm afraid this is going to be a long talk."

Draco stared at Dumbledore with angry eyes for a few moments before directing the glare at his godfather. Severus wore the same baffled –and somewhat aggravated- expression he had been sporting for the past five minutes, so Draco didn't find any reassurance from that side; not that he was looking for it. Wondering if he would be regretting his decision in the near future and trying to push aside the alarm bells going off inside of him, he followed the Potions Master's example and took the proffered seat, although not without making it clear with his deep scowl that any nonsense whatsoever from the old batty wizard and he'd be very glad indeed to call off this recent, fragile truce. Dumbledore, to his merit, didn't seem to even notice the blond man's silent threat.

"Tea, anyone?" The Headmaster had conjured a tray with tea things and a basket full of pastries and such out of thin air and was now pouring the hot, aromatic liquid into three cups. Before Draco could object, there was a steaming cup before him on the desk and an assortment of biscuits on a small plate right beside it.

"Eat, child. You must be starving," Dumbledore said kindly and Draco was somewhat taken aback with the old man's light-hearted demeanour after everything Draco had thrown at him… Not that he regretted any of it, all the same. Albus Dumbledore had yet to explain a lot of things, but to tell the truth Draco was too tired, too sick of everything to argue anymore. Begrudgingly admitting to his stomach's rumbling, he took the cup in his hands; secretly relishing the warmth spreading from his fingers to his arms, noticing just then how cold he really was. He took a drink of the hot liquid and felt its light ginger flavour soothing him from the inside out, but he still stopped the little sigh that threatened to escape his lips. He opened his weary eyes –realising only then that he had closed them- to find the Headmaster chuckling softly over his cup of tea.

"I never thought I'd see my office this topsy-turvy again, but I suppose it's been understandable in both cases. Fortunately, there are very few things in life that can't be fixed," the old man said with a hint of mystery, smiling gently at the blond opposite him.

"Albus, stop stalling and get on with it!" Severus' tone was firm, if not a little exasperated. Dumbledore looked up at him and shook his head slightly, apparently amused by the Potions Master's impatience.

"Very well," he conceded as he returned the cup to its saucer and folded his hands on top of his desk. "What I'm about to tell you, Draco, is very difficult, maybe even impossible to believe, but you have to promise me you'll listen and try to trust me... But first, I must ask you to answer a few private questions, if you'd be so kind." Dumbledore's blue gaze was fixed on the blond; there were no signs of his copyrighted playfulness now. Draco's eyes narrowed, already feeling suspicious.

"Why should I answer _your_ questions? Why should I trust you? You haven't given me any reason whatsoever to do so, and just because you pulled one of your tricks and saved me from prison doesn't mean that I…"

"Child, your mother told me you're experiencing Animus Salutor. May I inquire when exactly the Visits started?" the old wizard asked, not waiting for Draco to finish his diatribe. The blond felt his brain suddenly halt all its processes and spool back. _What the Hell…?_ He glared fiercely at his godfather, but Severus looked as puzzled as he was –never mind the sudden scowl at Draco's accusing eyes. The blond wasn't deterred, though.

"Why did she tell you about that! What does it have to do with _anything_!" he snapped at both men as he put his cup down a little too harshly.

"I know it doesn't make any sense to you right now, but I need you to answer me so I can explain what's going on." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking intently into the young wizard's eyes. Draco felt quite helpless for a second or two; this was certainly not a subject he wanted to discuss at the moment –least of all with the man sitting in front of him. He glanced warily at his godfather and noticed the almost imperceptible nod of his head. Realising that he should give in if he wanted some answers, he closed his eyes again. _This isn't quite a square deal_, he thought begrudgingly.

He took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "The first Visit occurred two weeks after graduation. Since then, they have happened randomly. Sometimes, days would go by, even weeks without having one; sometimes he would show up every single night for a fortnight… even during the day at times."

"_He_?" Severus asked shrewdly, one elegant eyebrow raised. "I was under the impression that you _didn't_ know…"

"Believe me, some things are easy to figure out," Draco spat, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson. He felt like a specimen on display and was starting to regret his decision. He grabbed his cup and took a hasty sip of his tea to cover his uneasiness.

"I see... Do you have any idea why the Visits started in the first place?" The old man asked affably as he brushed pastry crumbs from his cindery beard, making it look like they were discussing something as inconsequential as the weather… which Draco found quite annoying, to say the least.

"If you know anything about Animus Salutor, then you should know there's not much information lying around about it," he said between gritted teeth; his cold eyes fixed on the Headmaster's face, searching for some clue as to where this… _interrogation_ was leading, but was unsuccessful. "The few books I've found explain the basics, that's all; and to tell the truth, I don't see what else there could be about it. As for these questions, I still don't understand what they have to do with you forging my Mother's memory," he added curtly, not trying –and not wanting- to hide his exasperation.

"Believe it or not, my boy, there _is_ a connection between what you're experiencing and your inability to remember your Mother's memory."

"My _inability_?" Draco asked with narrowed eyes, but Dumbledore ignored him and stood up from his desk, letting out a little sigh. Stormy-grey and jet-black eyes followed him as he made his way to the opposite wall of the room, things settling in his wake, until he reached a broken shelf that righted itself in a flash; books and other paraphernalia flying to accommodate themselves on top of it. In a matter of seconds, the room was once again in impeccable order, with no signs whatsoever of the earlier disruption.

"For you to understand Animus Salutor, Draco, it's important that you know what it is and how it works, of course, but even more so, that you realise what it _means_," the purple-robed wizard said as he flicked his wand in indiscernible patterns and a small door, just like a cupboard, appeared behind the shelf.

"I _know_ perfectly well what it all mea…" Draco started, aggravated, but Dumbledore held a wrinkled hand up for silence and the blond didn't have any other choice but to close his mouth. His godfather's glare wasn't exactly supportive either.

"No, I don't think you do, my boy, or you wouldn't have bitten Harry's head off like you did this afternoon," the old wizard said airily as he searched for a particular book in his collection, his purple-cloaked back pointedly facing his companions.

Surprisingly, it took more than two seconds for this statement to permeate Draco's bewildered brain. He stuttered a little before he was able to form a coherent sentence.

"What? What does Harry _bloody _Potter have to do with _this_?"

Although his face was set in an indignant scowl, Draco knew that his initial hesitation gave too much away, and he hated himself for letting his guard down like that. Dumbledore noticed, of course, and he regarded the blond with a knowing smile before he locked the cupboard again and moved back to his chair holding a tattered, brown leather-bound book in his hands. He placed it on the desk near the blond wizard.

"Now, Draco, before I move on to the facts, I need you to be completely honest. With yourself," he added at Draco's annoyed face. "Can you really deny that Harry is involved in all of this?"

The blond aimlessly pondered what to say for what seemed like an eternity. To be honest with himself –and damn the old coot for it- he had to admit that he didn't believe in mere coincidences or lucky chances. Everything happened for a reason, no matter how hidden, insignificant, or devious; everything _had_ a logical explanation. But the truth was that he didn't know how he could _explain_ what had happened today with Potter without wandering into strictly forbidden territory; without sailing into a sea of possibilities that were simply too surreal, too… _absurd_ for him to even consider them. So the matter still remained, unaddressed and unresolved: Was he truly prepared to be honest with himself and face the facts? Did he really want to know what was going on? Could he _really_ accept the truth, as unlikely or unthinkable or... _horrifying_ as it might be?

He finally decided to evade the question.

"I understand your intentions," he said coldly. "But right now, all I want is an explanation and you are the one who seems to have it; so until you decide to speak straightforwardly to me, I can't reach any conclusions."

"Fair enough," Dumbledore conceded after a short silence. He waved his wand in different patterns -plates and cups vanishing as he did so- before settling comfortably in his long-backed chair. "Animus Salutor is a very special magical event. It happens only in the rarest of cases, but its connotations are quite important indeed."

"I think that much is pretty clear…" Draco drawled, and Dumbledore gave him a pointed look, silencing him in a flash. The blond suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, settling with clenching his jaw instead.

"In the beginning, Wizards and Non-magical people lived in perfect harmony. The two groups respected each other's ideals and customs and were eager to learn from one another, to help each other to the extent of their capabilities. It was a rewarding symbiosis, and everybody was satisfied with the way things were... That is, until the seed of greed was planted, and our differences started to be seen as threats on both sides. Eventually, our big, happy family grew alienated. Each group followed the wrong leaders; empires were built, and with them, the necessity to conquer and defeat the minorities, the potential liabilities, became unavoidable. The bridges between our two cultures were burned, and the persecution of what until then had been an ally started; no one paying heed to our common origin and the ties of friendship and respect that had once bound us."

Draco was tempted to snap something along the lines of his school days thankfully being over, but the piercing blue stare held him in place.

"The segregation and the hatred reached their peak during the Middle Ages. The most important Muggle power of the time, the Church, tried to erase all bonds between us. The Inquisition was ruthless in its methods, making non-magical people even more scared and wary of our kind for fear of their lives. On our side, wizards and witches were being killed without remorse. Those that managed to stay alive went into hiding and resolved to ban any contact with the Muggles. But neither group predicted that a more powerful, unstoppable force would thwart their plans: Love."

"Does everything have to be a melodrama with you, Albus?" the Potions Master scowled, obviously unimpressed by the Headmaster's little speech. Dumbledore looked affronted for a second before shrugging off his former employee's smart comment. He directed his total attention back to Draco, who was visibly clinging to some innate sense of propriety not to snap at him. Again.

_Patience, my boy. This is merely the beginning,_ the Headmaster thought tiredly; his calm countenance not betraying an ounce of his inner apprehension.

"This, Draco," he continued, "is how Animus Salutor was born; how exactly, nobody knows. Lovers who were forced apart because of their different backgrounds found a way of being together, no matter the distance between them. It happened mostly in mixed couples: a wizard or witch and a Muggle; but there were records of the phenomenon happening between purebloods and half-bloods or Muggleborns, in which case their families forbade their union. Was the inherent magic in one or both of the parties involved an important factor, I do not doubt it. Is magical prowess needed for it to happen, I do not believe so. Maybe we, humans as a whole, simply underestimate the power of our own emotions and feelings."

"Wait… Are you trying to say…?" Draco didn't know what to say or how to react. Each one of the old man's words felt like knives going down his throat. He turned towards his godfather, but Severus' face was a blank mask again and it was obvious that the acidic Potions Master had decided to stay out of it this time. _A little late for that_, Draco thought bitterly. Dumbledore merely continued his explanation as if the young wizard hadn't uttered a word.

"Sadly, before the phenomenon was thoroughly researched, it was considered 'unforgivable' by wizards and Muggles alike. In Wizarding society, every single book or document regarding Animus Salutor was destroyed; the mere concept that true love between a wizard and a Muggle could exist was simply abhorrent, and therefore, everything that proved otherwise was deemed forbidden. But it was even worse for the Muggles. Not being able to explain or understand the nature of the Visits but realising their 'magical' inherence, the ruling power condemned it as evil. Those foolish enough to admit ever experiencing the phenomenon were persecuted, tortured, and killed as heretics, and soon enough, Animus Salutor ended up recorded in Muggle books as the worst of 'demonic possessions', in which a demon, or the 'devil' himself, had carnal interactions with a man or a woman…which, of course, couldn't be further from the truth."

"Incubus and Succubus," the Potions Master muttered. "They are demons that appear to oblivious maidens and men at night, according to Muggle theologians. I always wondered if those Muggle legends had some magical origin, but I never imagined it was Animus Salutor that spawned them." There was something in his tone that hinted that that wasn't the only thing running through his mind at the moment.

"It wasn't Animus Salutor that spawned them, but people's ignorance and intolerance," Albus stated with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Fear can taint the purest of things, and it was Fear that made people, Muggles and wizards alike, deny the phenomenon so vehemently; to the point of outlawing it. Today, only few know of its actual existence, and for those who do, it's mostly from personal experience, for they have acted as Hosts; like you, Draco. But there's a remarkable difference between you and all of them, my boy…" Dumbledore trailed off; his face settling into a concerned expression as he looked intently at the blond. "They all knew who their Other Part was." Those words hung in the air, oppressive and heavy, for long moments.

"No… That's… that's impossible! That can't be…"

Draco barely noticed that it had been he who had spoken. He was shaking his head; his eyes not really focusing on anything. That didn't make any sense! It had to be a lie; another one of this bastard's schemes. This couldn't be true, goddamn it!

Soon enough, confusion and incredulity merged into anger.

"I don't believe you. I don't know what you're trying to achieve with all of this, but I won't fall for it, do you understand? I'm sure Mother didn't tell you anything; you just ripped the information from her under Veritaserum, didn't you? I don't care what you've done for me, and I hate that I was so naïve as to confide in you!"

"Draco, please," Severus interjected, "just let Albus finish whatever it is he needs to say. If you don't want to be treated like a child then stop acting like one!"

"The _Hell_ I will! So I can hear more lies, you mean?" the blond spat; eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. "You're completely mistaken if you think I'm going to believe this!"

"I never said it would be easy, Draco, but I did think you would be more open to my explanations. Maybe it was naïve on _my_ part; I thought I had seen enough proof today. I was wrong. But Severus is right. Everything which has been started must be concluded… for better or for worse," Dumbledore muttered, and his dejected tone placated Draco somewhat. He watched the old wizard open the brown book and start going through its yellowing pages, finally stopping somewhere in the middle. He skimmed whatever was written for a short moment before he deposited it on the table once again, still open.

"Like I said, Animus Salutor is not an isolated event; it's a consequence of something much, much greater. It's a tool, so to speak; the last resource of a bond that needs to be fulfilled. It is, Draco, what has kept you both alive. If the bond between you two weren't so strong, if the love you two shared wasn't so powerful as to overcome the spell cast upon you, I don't believe you would have survived these last three years."

Despite his conflicting emotions, Draco felt an iceberg settling in his stomach. What in Hades' name was the man talking about? He let his thoughts known, and Dumbledore pointed at the book. The blond glanced questioningly at his godfather, but Severus merely raised an eyebrow at him. _Can you handle it?_ his onyx gaze said. Draco picked up the book, anger and dread competing as he did so, and read:

_Nesci Amator_

_Latin. Exact Translation: "Ignore (forget) the one that loves you" _

_157 A.D._

_One of the most accomplished spells of the time, Nesci Amator was considered to be an infallible measure against infidelity. Very dark in nature, it is meant to erase a specific lover from one person's memory. _

_Nesci Amator tracks the very start of the profane relationship and eradicates every single detail of its evolution without endangering the memories of parallel events in the recipient's life. The victim will still remember the targeted person, but will forget any complex feelings ever experienced towards them. Namely, the recipient will not remember ever having an affair with said person, but will maintain the knowledge of their acquaintance until the moment it started being of a more intimate nature. _

_This particular trait makes the spell not only a means of revenge against the unfaithful spouse, however, as it is quite probable that the targeted party, once he/she has suffered the rejection of the oblivious victim, will feel exactly as the caster felt when discovering their forbidden liaison. Of course, the whole 'infidelity context' is merely a guideline of sorts. It was used by all kinds of parties in every possible circumstance: political advantage, monetary gain, judicial matters… namely, in any situation where there was a conflict of interests; a way of 'disapparating' a person out of the portrait without recurring to more drastic measures. _

_As an historical anecdote, some scholars still claim that one of Henry the Eighth's closest counsellors used to hire a dark wizard to cast the spell on the King whenever he fancied himself 'in love' with a commoner, as it seemed that the King's unmatched libido was considered a threat to the Muggle Crown. Regrettably, the unfortunates were always led to their death, thus these allegations are solely speculative and not to be taken seriously._

_The efficiency of the spell was confirmed in eighty nine percent of the cases; a very high rate taking into consideration the rather delicate manipulations the recipient's mind was subjected to. Only eight out of a hundred cases resulted in extreme brain damage, insanity, or total amnesia, but these unlikely occurrences were proven to be related to an error in the casting of the hex, a very complex and demanding procedure, and not the magic involved in the spell itself. However, it is important to point out a minority of cases, around a three percent, in which Nesci Amator seemed to be somewhat ineffective. Some attributed this mishap to the presence of a particularly strong bond between the recipient and the target, but these hypotheses were never corroborated..._

Draco stared at the page for who knows how long, feeling bile rise to his throat. His mind was swirling with incoherent thoughts, but for some reason he couldn't find the strength to give them voice. Willing his hammering heart into control, he finally looked up at the two wizards watching his every move.

"What the hell does this mean? What does it have to do with me?" he said in none so gentle tones, nearly throwing the tattered book over his head. Gratefully, Severus took it from his hands before he could vent his frustration on it and started reading its contents himself, though not before glaring icily at his godson for such barbaric treatment towards an innocent.

"That, I believe, is the answer to some of your questions, Draco," was Dumbledore's quiet, thoughtful statement. "Of course, I would have to perform a test to confirm my theory, but I'm quite confident my reasoning is correct. It's needless to say that it's up to you to accept this as the truth, my boy. I can only hope that you see I'm not lying to you. I, just like Severus, mean only the best for you both."

"Please, drop the plurals already!" Draco resisted the urge to pull at his hair. "I'm the one caught in the middle of this! I don't see anybody here but me being lied to..."

"This certainly explains a lot," Severus' drawl interrupted him; the Potions Master was looking at Dumbledore. "I studied this spell a long time ago. Voldemort was fascinated with the psychological effects it had on the victims; not to mention the fact that it was supposed to 'annihilate' Love. He thought that was quite… interesting, to say the least."

"I don't find that hard to believe," the old wizard said with a joyless smile. "Tom always got it wrong. People's minds and memories, even their lives, can be tampered with. People's hearts, their feelings… that's a completely different story." Draco looked from one wizard to the other with his mouth open; incredulous at their apparent disregard for what he was saying, or thinking, or _feeling_, for that matter.

"Albus, just perform the test and get this over with." Severus gestured towards Draco. "Never mind _him_. He'll never let himself see the truth even when it's biting him on the arse."

"I'm here, you know?" Draco said furiously. "I can decide for myself, Gods damn it! And the answer is _no_! I don't want any bloody test! This is all rubbish!" Severus clenched his jaw; eyes narrowed.

"I thought you wanted to know the bloody truth. You've whined and moaned about life being so unfair to you, and yet you get to finally have the answers you've been looking for and you are so _scared_ you won't let yourself take the chance." Draco was nearly gaping now, outraged, but no words left him in his indignation. Severus gave him one final disappointed look before he nodded at Dumbledore; putting the old, brown book carefully on the desk.

The old wizard stood up from his chair, moving to stand before the blond in a ruffle of purple robes; his wand out. Draco took in the polished tool and stood abruptly, taking a few steps away from the wizard and taking out his own wand, which had fortunately been returned to him after the hearing was over. To no small relief.

"You're _not_ doing anything to me! Step _back_!"

"Have I ever given you any reason to distrust me?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring the blonde's sharp glare. "I promise you, child, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to… open your eyes," he said, holding his hands calmly in front of him with inquiring eyes shining on his face and his wand concealed between his palms; looking very much like a scorned child instead of the powerful, magnanimous wizard he surely was.

Draco knew in that moment that there was no other choice but to relent; not this far in the game. Too many doors had been opened, too many doubts raised. He knew he would not be able to live in peace now; even with his reputation and his wealth apparently 'restored' –although, he didn't want to think about the price he had had to pay for those, either. Nevertheless, he had been given a choice; a choice to understand what was truly happening to him. So far, nothing made sense, and Dumbledore's approach was only making it harder for him. Worse yet, if he wanted to be as objective and reasonable as he knew he had to be, he had to admit that this whole situation didn't revolve around him alone. Even if he refused, Draco was sure that that wouldn't stop Dumbledore; not when it also concerned his idiotic Wonder Boy. And, wanting or not wanting, Draco _had_ to find out the truth. He couldn't keep denying the obvious anymore.

In short, he was screwed.

The blond lowered his wand, feeling miserable and overwhelmingly tired and looking very much so, and wishing he had never woken up that morning. "What do I have to do?"

Dumbledore smiled, satisfied.

"Just sit down, close your eyes, and follow my lead," he said cryptically. Draco did as directed, trying to ignore the wild pumping of his heart. He took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax, as impossible as that seemed.

At first, he didn't feel anything; just Dumbledore's calm, soothing presence beside him; which, to tell the truth, was sort of a surprise in and of itself. He could tell the old man was muttering something but he couldn't make out the words. Then, he felt a white light engulfing him completely; he could sense its brightness even with his lids closed, but it didn't hurt his eyes. He felt it permeating every part of him, sinking deeply through him, wrapping around his hesitant thoughts.

_Catch the snitch, Draco_. He heard Dumbledore's gentle voice inside his head, and he was about to ask the old wizard if he had finally lost his bloody mind when the image of a golden, silvery-winged little ball appeared before his mind's eye, fluttering barely out of reach. He felt himself –that is, his _mental_ self; he wouldn't know how to describe it- stretching out his arm towards it, Seeker reflexes aflame, but just as he was about to close his fingers around it, the blasted thing started racing forward, away from him, but –most abnormally- pulling him along for the ride.

That's when everything went wild.

All of the sudden, he was racing down memory lane. _Literally_. All around him, there were snaps and flashes of past experiences; things he had practically forgotten. His whole childhood passed before his eyes –or rather, _he_ ran _through_ it. Everything was there: his mother's voice when she sang lullabies to him in his bed; his father patient frown as he taught him to fly his broom; his lonely days in the manor as an only child, with no friends to play with, killing his time reading and drawing in his bedroom. His birthday parties, filled with children he didn't really know and didn't want to do anything with; the death of Titus, his pet snake, and how much he had cried when he had found him dead in his cage; the episode with the _helishopters_; the time he exploded his toilet with a modified dungbomb and his mother's subsequent fit…

But that didn't seem to be what the snitch was searching for -if it _was_ looking for something, as he presumed- because it did a twist and a turn, Draco being dragged along, and then it was flying down different paths, different times; dodging memories that popped up before them, all from different epochs in his life: Hogwarts, his time as a spy, his seclusion in Greece. It kept going up and down, turning here and there in this strange maze that was his own mind, until it found an individual tunnel –Draco didn't even know if that description made any sense-; one that felt… isolated from all the others. Or maybe not 'isolated' _per se_, but it was somewhat separated from the rest of his memories. They started towards the tunnel, and suddenly, the golden snitch disappeared. Finally, it seemed he had gotten to wherever he had to go. The 'guided tour' was over.

_See for yourself, my boy._ It was Dumbledore's voice again; resonating all around him. He took a cautious step forward, curious of what he would see; curious of what his own mind had kept so… guarded, so protected from the rest of the world, even himself.

The moment he 'stepped' through, he was assaulted by thousands of flashes of memories. If he hadn't known he couldn't faint inside his own head, he certainly would have. Of utter _shock_.

It was his mental 'archive' of Potter. He had a whole bloody compartment of his mind entirely devoted to Harry sodding Potter! He was perversely fascinated and horrified at the same time. What did this mean? Was he obsessed with the idiot or something? _Gods! What is_ wrong _with me?_

He went through his memories, completely amazed by the amount of detail in each one of them. That day when he had first laid his eyes on the bound-to-be Gryffindor at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions; how utterly… _intrigued_ he had been about that scrawny, small, visibly lost boy with eyes of molten jade and hideous baggy clothes that couldn't conceal his fearless spirit; how intimidated Draco had felt by him and how he had tried to overcome those alien feelings by flaunting his money and the power of his family. All those nights he had spent thinking about him were there, as well; all those sleepless hours he had spent racking his brain, wondering who that boy was and if he would have the chance to meet him again, maybe even be his friend, just to have all his petty illusions shattered with that fated meeting at the Hogwarts Express one month later: the milestone of a decade of grudges and bad blood, the most painful rejection he had ever suffered in his whole life. Just seeing that moment again, so vivid and real, brought back the bitterness, ruthless and raw, to his heart.

Every glare, every insult, every fight was carefully stored here; even little details he couldn't have ever imagined he knew about, like the way Potter's eyes seemed to turn a brighter shade of green when he smiled –how bloody pathetic was _that_?- and the fierce lines of concentration that decorated his brow whenever he sped towards the snitch. His knobbly fingers and their clumsiness when chopping Belladonna root; the way his hair stuck up at odd angles, making him look as if he had just been devilishly snogged; the way his cheeks and neck would flush with passion and anger every time they crossed an oath or two in the hallways...

The night in the Forbidden Forest during first year popped up… _Gods!_ How bloody confident Potter had seemed whilst Draco had been on the verge of wetting his pants! And they _both_ had been eleven years old! Even today, Draco still considered that night a slap to his face. It was the very first time he had had to admit to himself what an important ally he had irremediably lost and how hard he would have to work to be in the same league as Potter. The Hippogriff farce, the Dementor Prank, the Inquisitorial Squad, the Quidditch Captainship… it had all been for the same, utterly pointless and moronic reason: a desperate need to feel Potter's equal, to know he was worthy, even when Draco knew, deep down, that he wasn't; that he never would be.

As everything turns out to be when put in the right perspective, facing his own thoughts about the Gryffindor was not easy in the least. There was so much envy, so much jealousy, so much unnecessary loathing… But at the same time, there was so much restlessness, so much hopelessness, so much… _wanting_ to be acknowledged by him; to be noticed, no matter how. Harry Potter personified everything Draco ever wanted to be –powerful, cherished, admired- at the same time as pointing out all of Draco's faults just by contrast. Draco realised he had merely followed the only role left to him where Potter was concerned: while Potter was the hero, everyone's favourite, the one destined to live with the princess of the tale happily ever after, Draco was the evil counterpart, the villain, the scoundrel; just because that was the only way Draco could ever be on the same level as Potter. Not quite _by_ him, but still… facing him, challenging him, opposing him. It didn't matter. At least Draco was there, _with_ _him_, somehow…

_Gods! I've always…_

_I am…_

Draco broke into a run down the long tunnel; trying to get away from his memories, trying to escape his own feelings. _Out! I need to get out! Get me out! _But there was no response. He was surrounded by memories of Potter: Potter sitting by himself under the shade of a tree by the lake, Potter grinning over his goblet of pumpkin juice at the Gryffindor table, Potter's face in Umbridge's office after they had raided the D.A., Potter's eyes when Draco had threatened to take revenge on his father's name… He couldn't block them; he couldn't stop them from popping up before his eyes. So he ran, away but at the same time into more memories of tangled raven-black hair and haunting emerald eyes. He ran and ran, thinking that there was no way out; that he was locked there forever and nothing could ever stop him from drowning in memories of Harry Potter, from sinking into the sweet misery of what he would never have…

His breath caught in his throat, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

In front of him, there was a black… wall. It was so tall he couldn't see where it ended, and as solid as diamond and steel. It reeked with so much evil and hatred Draco could almost taste it. It was calling him, taunting him to try and knock it down if he could, if he _dared_. Draco knew he had to get to the other side, but the wall was too tall, the darkness too thick. He held out a hand to touch it and he felt a bolt of incredible sorrow flash across his heart the instant he got close to it. But he had to try; it was imperative that he reached the other side.

He took a tentative step forward, feeling the air abandoning his lungs with every inch he covered. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. _Just do it. It's only a few more steps!_ He gathered all his courage, all his strength, and launched himself against the wall.

The moment his fingertips grazed the hard surface, he felt a sharp, overwhelming pain in his core; he was being ripped in two. His fingers dug into the hard steel, and it was as if they were being burned. He couldn't breathe; everything was spinning wildly around him. When he thought he couldn't take anymore, he _saw_ them.

Glimpses, flashes; glimmering pieces of memories were hidden behind that wall. They all rushed before his wide, frightened eyes; lingering for the feeblest of moments before they disappeared into the dark abysm surrounding him. He tried to hold on to them, but there was nothing he could do about it; they all vanished, leaving him empty and withering in sorrow and pain. The darkness was mocking him, laughing at him. His blood ran like ice in his veins, and he was assaulted by horrible despair. He knew he had to hold on; he had to resist… But the darkness knew he couldn't, that he didn't have the strength to knock down the wall, and so it kept on laughing, guffawing loudly in his ears, _Unworthy… Don't deserve him… Fool… _And Draco didn't want to listen to it, but he knew it was true. Gods, it was so true…

He collapsed onto the dark floor; his memories out of his reach forever.

_I can't… I don't have the strength... _

And the darkness laughed even louder, spitting cold in his bones and pain in his heart. _A disgrace… Worthless… Better off without you…So weak… _

_I can't do it… I'm too weak…_

_I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… _

After that, the darkness took over completely and he knew nothing more.

ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº

"Open your eyes, my boy. It's over."

Dumbledore's voice. Dumbledore's office.

"What..?" Draco tried to sit up, but his head felt as though it was about to explode, and he collapsed onto the chair once more. Did he pass out? "What happened…? How long...?" he croaked. His throat was a sandbank.

"Twenty minutes, maybe less. Take it easy, Draco," Severus said as he pressed a glass to his hand as he sat in his chair. Draco brought the glass to his lips and downed its contents in two gulps, feeling the slightest hint of valerian on his tongue. A mild sedative. So they thought he was going to snap again, did they?

"You did well, Draco. I'm proud of you," Dumbledore said as he took his seat. There was a kind smile on his face. "My suspicions are confirmed. Nesci Amator was cast upon you two."

"You mean..?" Draco asked; he hadn't even thought of the possibility. Dumbledore pushed his half-moon spectacles over his nose. "What would be the point of going through all that trouble to make _you_ forget if there was going to be a loose end?"

The blond remained thoughtful for a moment.

"There was… a black wall," Draco muttered, grey eyes unfocused. "In the tunnel… in… Potter's tunnel… and I couldn't… I knew it was all there, behind it… The visions I had seen were there too… they are memories, I… saw them, but I couldn't keep them …" he trailed off, trying to digest what he had seen. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide as he made sense of what he had just said. "There's a wall in my head! There's a bloody _wall_ in my _head_!"

"Calm down, my boy. What you saw it's not quite… real," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Everything you experienced –the tunnels, the wall… even the snitch, was part of the spell I used to map your memories. It was merely your subconscious trying to show you what is happening inside your head in a way you could understand. Look at it as trying to discern the meaning of a dream. Your mind suggests the symbols, but it's up to you to read them."

"You were there," Draco said lowly, feeling violated in the most intrinsic way. "You saw it happening, and you didn't help me! Even when I asked you to get me out!"

"I showed you the path, yes," Dumbledore conceded, "but I didn't push the memories forward." He sat up in his chair, arms folded over the desk. "It is _your_ mind, Draco. It showed you only what _you_ wanted to see. The minute you reached the place you were looking for, you were on your own. I couldn't take you away from it anymore than I could tell you what to think. The only thing I could do was record your progress, which is what the spell was meant for, and let you figure things out on your own."

Draco rubbed his face tiredly. The old coot was right. He _had_ entered the damn tunnel after all; he _had_ followed his curiosity. But how was he supposed to know..? How could he have known

what he'd see there? He wasn't prepared for it! Hell, he wasn't prepared for anything anymore!

Dumbledore must have read his thoughts –as he always seemed to do- because he let out a long sigh before he spoke again. "As I had predicted, there's a wide gap in your memory, Draco; I'm guessing of several months… maybe more than a year. Your subconscious showed it to you as a 'wall', but it's, in fact, a rupture in your trail of reminiscence your brain can't breach. Also, you were able to feel the nature of the spell; your subconscious doesn't understand the lack of information but it knows the source –the cause, so to speak, at least indirectly. That, in itself, is very important. If it wasn't for the bond, you _wouldn't_ be able to realise that there has been a disruption at all… even at an unconscious level."

"But… that doesn't make any sense! I remember everything I've done in the past! Well… everything except yelling at my mother!" Draco said, exasperated and confused. He vaguely wondered if the valerian essence was working at all… Maybe he was beyond help at this point; chemical or otherwise.

"There are several types of Memory Charms," Severus said as he pinched his nose. "_Obliviate_ is, perhaps, the most simple and efficient of all. It erases every single thing stored in the short-term memory, which is what makes it such a powerful tool for the Obliviators, but it can also access information in the long-term memory storage, so it is possible to manipulate one's memory of the past. However, _Obliviate_ can't single out information. It wipes out the complete line of reminiscence without discriminating any details. The main difference between Nesci Amator and other Memory Charms is that it uses specific feelings to locate and pinpoint which memories it must erase; _conscious_ feelings…" He trailed off for a second or two, scratching his chin as he pondered something. "The only reason I can think of why you can't remember that conversation with your mother is because your love for Potter was the strongest thing in your mind at the moment, and the spell read it as a relevant factor and wiped out the complete event. There's the possibility that other memories such as that were erased as well."

To the older men's surprise, Draco let out a bark of laughter.

"You do realise how hilarious that sounds, don't you? Whatever I did in the past with Potter it was certainly not about _love_… Maybe lust or something, but even _that_ I find bloody ridiculous." Draco couldn't believe he had managed to say those words without sounding the least unsure of himself.

"Yes, just as I find it quite ridiculous how you two were at the very verge of snogging each other senseless in a public lavatory and made it look like you wanted to slit the other's throat open," the Potions Master hissed; obsidian eyes locked with narrowed grey. "Deny it all you want, Draco, but deep down you know it all comes down to Potter. With you, it _always_ does. You're just too stubborn to accept it," he said between gritted teeth.

"Boys, boys! Your bickering is hardly necessary at the moment!" Dumbledore shook his head slightly, amused, whilst the two former Slytherins glared at each other. "However, Severus does have a point. What bothers you more, Draco? Knowing that your memory has been modified, or admitting to yourself that you're bonded to Harry; that you two once shared something special, as unlikely as that sounds to you now?"

Draco was about to answer, but the old wizard didn't let him. "This whole ordeal only proves that our hearts always know where we belong, no matter if our foolish minds can't remember. I've sensed the nature of the bond you two share, and it's very powerful indeed. Just the fact that you're experiencing Animus Salutor says as much."

Dumbledore regarded the blond with a candid smile when he noticed that Draco couldn't seem to find anything to say to that. "Whoever did this to you, they never expected your love to be so pure, so great. That was their mistake. And that fact is, gratefully, your salvation. You can't keep denying what your heart desires, Draco; it would be against your very self to do so. I understand how terrifying this must be for you, but the only thing you can do about it is to follow your heart. I know how difficult that is for you Slytherins; always so cold and wanting to be in control of everything in your lives." Dumbledore looked at both of them over his half-moon spectacles with twinkling blue eyes.

"Let's say I am... _willing_ to go along with this," the blond finally said, letting out a long exhalation. "Is there any way to reverse the spell?" Severus glanced briefly at the old man.

"I'm afraid that's impossible to tell at this point. When you told me about the 'visions' I had thought it could be a possibility, taking into consideration how powerful you two are. We know the answer to that now. I imagine the bond tried to preserve some memories, but how many and for how long..." The Potions Master couldn't look at his godson's face.

"Oh, that's simply _marvellous_!" Draco spat, standing up from his chair. He felt like a Dragon locked up in a tiny cage. He felt helpless, and he hated it. "I had a piece of my mind ripped out of me and the only lead I have to figure out what really happened is a spell created by hysterical women two thousand years ago, which can't be _reversed_? What the hell am I supposed to do now? Surely it's very easy for you to sit in front of me and bombard me with all these theories and facts! But what about _me_? All of the sudden I'm bonded to Harry _sodding_ Potter and I can't even remember why or how! I denied my family, I turned my back on everything I knew, and I don't have a bloody reason for it! Can you even _begin_ to imagine what that feels like?" _Gods! Why didn't they try Avada Kedavra instead!_ the blond thought as he tried to will his breathing pattern back to normal. He was failing miserably.

"Draco, don't focus on the things you've lost; it will only get you down when you need all your strength. Think instead of everything you'll gain." Dumbledore offered with a smile. "We all lose special moments in our lives, but it's the new ones, the events that await for us tomorrow, that truly keep us going."

The blond knew that those words were meant to be a balm for his tumultuous soul, but for some reason they didn't work out very well.

"That's exactly my point! Tomorrow! What am I going to do _tomorrow_?" He threw his hands up in exasperation and let them fall on his thighs with a loud 'snap'. "I know what a bond of this kind means; I know my bloody life depends on finding a way to be close to him! But how in Hades' name am I going to do _that_? I can't just show up at Potter's house and tell him 'Oi Mate! You will never believe this, but you are, in fact, my Soul Mate. Neither you nor I can remember, but that's highly irrelevant. Oh, right… I forgot. We need to shag or we both could die!'"

"Well, the phrasing is not quite subtle, but I truly believe that Harry will be more receptive than you imagine," the old man chuckled slightly; Draco was appalled to realise how annoyingly easy it came to the old coot. "You have to remember, Draco, he's going through the same thing you are going through... except perhaps that he probably doesn't understand a knut about what's happening to him. It's your job to help him see the truth." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling wildly.

"Oh, but of course!" the blond snorted. "I guess he will just forget the fact that he's engaged to Ginny Weasley! I'm sure he won't mind throwing his perfect little life away to accommodate _me_," he added with a caustic sneer.

"Potter's engaged to Ginevra Weasley?" Severus actually smirked at that.

"Don't tell me you didn't know…The wedding is supposed to be the social event of the year. Their story is quite the fairy tale, it seems," Draco scowled from his spot by the large window, feeling a bolt of insane jealousy in the pit of his stomach and hating himself for it. Right in that moment, he wondered if he had read his own emotions wrong and it hadn't really been _envy_ that he had felt when he had read that news... but he realised then that he would go completely mental if he started psychoanalysing every single emotion he had felt towards Potter during the last three years.

"Well, well... I guess it won't be such an easy task for you after all," Severus smirked. "But look on the bright side. You can take it as a test of your legendary powers of persuasion," the pale man added with a drawl; earning himself another glare from Draco, which he absolutely ignored. The Headmaster had the grace to look downcast.

"That certainly makes things more complicated, yes," he said as he twirled a silver strand of his beard between his fingers. None of the three wizards said anything for a while. It was Draco who finally spoke, giving voice to his thoughts.

"About that book… it didn't actually explain the procedure for the Nesci Amator spell. Where can we find a book that does? Maybe there's a way to reverse it that you don't know about." He didn't want to feel hopeful, but hope seemed to be the only thing he had right now.

"Nesci Amator is an ancient spell," Severus answered. "I know it was described thoroughly in a fifteenth century dark grimoire, the _Chartae_ _Nefasti_, or 'Unholy Letters'. There were only five copies made of that book. The original is being guarded in the Department of Mysteries..."

"Don't tell me," Draco interrupted in a dejected, flat tone. "The original is completely inaccessible and the copies are lost." Severus didn't respond, which was enough response.

"Well, _somebody_ found one," Draco said with narrowed eyes; hands held tightly behind his back as he looked out the tall gothic windows. "I need to take a walk," he informed in crisp tones after a short pause, turning on his heels to leave the round room without more protocol. Dumbledore's voice stopped him before he could reach the door.

"Wait a second, my boy." He walked towards the blond, rummaging for something inside his robe pockets; Draco wondered how many things the old man carried around in his clothes. Albus produced a black book, and with a smile, offered it to the blond. Draco took the book hesitantly, looking quizzically at the Headmaster.

"Let's just say it has been stray for far too long," the old man said cryptically, winking at him in the same fashion he had done in the courtroom.

Draco didn't reply. He merely nodded before opening the great oak door, stepped out, and closed it firmly behind him without a backward glance.

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"Are you sure it was the right thing to do?"

Minutes later, Albus and his former Potions Master were the only occupants in the round office. Fawkes had arrived shortly after Draco's exit –the phoenix detested Portkey travels, and always took the chances for a nice flight around. The Headmaster was now petting his familiar and offering him nice treats for his outstanding performance that morning in the courtroom, which the bird accepted gladly. Severus, for his part, was standing by the large windows in the same spot his godson had occupied moments before, looking at the sun setting behind the faraway mountains; his hands behind his back and his face settled in a slight frown.

Albus looked up at his protégé. "Time is the only one that knows the answer to that question," he responded to the black-haired man's back. "Either way, something had to be done; it has been too long already... I fear for their wellbeing," he added thoughtfully.

"I just hope this won't destroy them instead," Severus said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I know Draco. He won't stop until he finds out the whole truth. What worries me is Potter. The Gods know I'm having trouble coming to terms with this, and I'm not even in the middle of it. I don't want my godson to suffer more than he already has, goddamn it!" Dumbledore appeared at his side and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"We must have faith, Severus. In the darkest of nights, the stars are always shining, even if they're hidden behind the clouds. Their love is great. It will find a way."

"Do you have any idea of who could have done it?" Severus asked flatly, his eyes set on the darkening horizon.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Severus. At this point in time, we may never know. They had many adversaries during the war; they still do," the old wizard admitted. "But right now, the most important thing is having the boys understand what is happening to them and how they cope. The rest will be sorted as it comes," he mused, watching the wandering students return to the castle for dinner.

"The thing is, and Merlin help me, Albus, but I think that what happened to them was for the best." Severus turned to look at his Mentor for the first time; lines of apprehension marring his pale face. Albus smiled at him in understanding.

"The risks they would have come across if they'd been together during the last days of the war would have been great," the older wizard conceded, "but I think that they were prepared to face them. We only have a vague idea of how long they'd been together before their memories were modified, but it surely was long enough for their relationship to grow and their bond to settle... not to mention that they managed to keep their affair a secret during the entire time. They knew the stakes, but they also knew what they were doing. I am sure they would have been alright," Dumbledore finished firmly.

"Did they, really?" Severus asked, his eyes unreadable, as he turned to look out the window again. The Headmaster knew exactly what he had meant, and regarded his protégé with a raised eyebrow before releasing a long sigh.

"I figured something was going on with Harry, but as with many other things, I just allowed him his privacy, hoping that he'd come to me whenever he felt ready. It was a part of his mind he protected at all costs, at all times. I tried to reach it during Occlumency lessons on a few occasions, but he had placed enough barriers to mark it as forbidden territory, and I couldn't just rip the information out of him. It wasn't until one night that I caught him running back to Gryffindor Tower minutes after I had seen Draco sneaking into the dungeons that things fell into place. The need for secrecy, the wariness... it all made sense," he finished in a tone hinting regret.

"Then you must have known that something had happened to them," Severus stated in a harsher tone that he intended; his jet-black eyes locked with blue. "You didn't think that they should be together, did you?" He made it sound like a question, but it was truly a statement.

"Did I fear at the time that their relationship could endanger both of them? Of course I did, but I didn't believe Draco was not worthy of Harry, if that's what you're thinking. My mistake was to think that what they had was a fleeting, juvenile crush; that they were merely experimenting as it's so natural amongst teenagers."

"They were not _normal_ teenagers," Severus said between gritted teeth.

"Certainly not. But didn't they, didn't _we_ want them to have a normal adolescence, even when they were growing up in a world at war, when they had been burdened with such hard responsibilities?" The Potions Master only made a noncommittal sound, but Dumbledore knew that Severus realised he was right.

"When things got back to normal –when Harry stopped guarding himself against me, that is, I thought it was because whatever they had had was over, and the most logical explanation was that my previous suppositions had been correct. It wasn't until Narcissa told me about Draco's Visits that I realised how wrong I had been and that something terrible had been done to the two of them, but I couldn't make out what exactly it was at the time."

"Hence the memory," Severus muttered out loud, realising just then that his anger wasn't directed at Albus but at the helplessness of the situation, and he sighed, exhausted. He hated feeling powerless, which was exactly how he felt right now, knowing that his godson's life had been thwarted so ruthlessly; being unable to come up with any solutions but -just like Dumbledore had said- giving time to Time and having faith it would all turn out alright. Draco was right. He couldn't begin to imagine what must be like to have a part of one's soul torn away like that.

"Narcissa was an intelligent woman, but you knew that already," Albus said with a swift glance in the Potions Master's direction. Severus' face remained a mask of stone. "However, I do wonder now what would have happened if the disclosure of that memory hadn't been necessary."

"Well, taking into consideration today's spectacle, I think it would have been only a matter of time before they…"

"Don't confuse knowledge with acceptance, Severus." At the perplexed –although unmistakably annoyed, if that was even possible- frown on the Potions Master's face, Dumbledore elaborated, "Right now, Draco _knows_ the truth. He knows that Harry is his Soul Mate, and he knows that he must be with him because his life depends on it. But he hasn't truly _accepted_ it. What he said was quite right. He has suddenly found himself with this profound revelation but he truly doesn't understand it. How could he, when he can't remember what made him fall in love with Harry Potter in the first place?" He gave a wry chuckle, which surprised the Potions Master somewhat. "Right now, they are puppets, Severus. They're being manipulated by a bond that needs to be fulfilled but with implications they can't really _see_; not until they truly open their hearts and find the motives that made their former selves give in to each other. They will have to _literally_ fall in love all over again. And until that happens, everything that Animus Salutor stands for between them will be completely irrelevant."

"I thought you said that their love was great enough to find a way," the black-haired wizard stated dryly.

"Oh, but it is! They just haven't realised it yet," the old man said with a wink. Severus suppressed the desire to roll his eyes at the batty wizard. A walking contradiction if he ever met one. His pale face suddenly turned serious, almost troubled.

"Albus… Do you think..?" He couldn't finish his question. He felt he was betraying the memory of the only woman he had ever loved just by thinking about it, but doubts were sneaky serpents. Gratefully, Albus didn't need elaborations.

"Maybe the question is not what I think, but what _you_ think, instead?" he asked in turn. The Potions Master's only response was to go back to his quiet contemplations, missing the slight frown that graced the Headmaster's brow.

A not so uncomfortable silence settled between the two wizards after that, broken only by the occasional trills coming from Fawkes' perch. Outside, the sky had turned a purplish blue and the torches inside the office and the ancient fireplace were now lit, bathing the round office in soft caramel hues. It wasn't until the magical clock on the wall chimed the time for supper that either of them spoke.

"Dinner is about to be served. Will you and Draco be joining us, Severus? I believe there's blueberry pie for dessert tonight."

The Potions Master was taken away from reminiscence, and clearing his throat, he shook his head hastily. "No, we must get going; it was a trying day. Thank you for the offer, though," he said casually as both wizards walked towards the door. Dumbledore didn't miss the uncharacteristic glimmer in his obsidian eyes, but just as so many other times, refrained from inquiring on his findings. Severus Snape was a very private man, and it wasn't in Albus' place to deny him his secrets.

"Very well. I think you'll want to go looking for Draco in the rose garden. Have a good evening, Severus." The old wizard placed both hands on his shoulders. "And don't worry too much, young man. That's my job."

Despite the conflicting emotions inside his chest, Severus did roll his eyes at the old batty wizard this time.

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The long, softly lit corridors appeared unchanged before his eyes. The same solid, ancient grey stone decorated floors, ceilings, and walls, and every now and then he would find an enchanted suit of armour gracing a corner or feel his progress being watched by the countless portraits hanging around him. The tall gothic windows beheld the same scenery of the school grounds. The magical staircases still played their thoughtless games, twisting and changing their course at the least expected moment, and the air still resonated with the indiscernible murmurs of hundreds of students going about. Hogwarts was exactly as he remembered it: firm and imposing but strangely welcoming at the same time.

However, as he walked through the old hallways of his youth, turned at hidden doorways, and carefully stepped over a tricky step or two, he couldn't prevent a strong feeling of alienation from overwhelming him. This had been his home for seven years; the place where he had grown, where the person he was now had been originally sketched and moulded; the place that had housed so many of his dreams, victories, and disappointments… and yet, Draco realised, it all felt so distant now; so disappointingly foreign and out of reach, as if the boy that had walked these grounds ten years ago had been somebody else. Ironically enough, every corner, every nook, every turn brought back a memory. Hogwarts was the greatest monument to his past; a reminder of all those things he had once taken for granted and that he now knew were never coming back.

His feet carried him to the main doors of their own volition. He passed several students in his wanderings, but he was too absorbed to notice the questioning glances and disguised pointing in his direction. It wasn't until he found himself deprived of the soothing warmth of the magical castle and he noticed the soft twilight stretching from the west that he realised he was outside, on the serpentine path leading to the greenhouses, and that night was rapidly approaching. How long had he been drowning in melancholy? It was certainly very un-Slytherinish of him, and he couldn't prevent a wry smile from sneaking to his lips at the thought.

He looked around and caught sight of the ivy-covered iron fence several feet from the path and the precious bushes splashed with tiny specks of red, white, and yellow beyond it, gleaming with pearly hues in the last rays of the day. Without a second thought, Draco made a beeline towards the wrought iron gate; it creaked and sheered as it opened, betraying its years. Entering the green sanctuary, he took a seat on one of the white marble benches scattered around the rose garden and sat facing the sunset amongst the delicate rose buds. Their strong essence flooded him, bringing a sense of familiarity he hadn't felt since he had left the Headmaster's office. The birds sang their goodnights to one another as they flew away looking for shelter, and the tall willows protecting the secret spot from the outside world rocked languidly with the breeze, creaking and whistling with age. It was a beautiful nightfall, and he felt, for the first time that day, at peace.

Draco took out the black book from his robe pocket. On closer inspection, he realised it wasn't a book, but a journal. It wasn't very old, but it showed signs of continuous and careful ownership. He noticed the lock was a magical one, and without hesitation, he took out his returned wand from his robe pocket and muttered "_Alohamora_". As expected, there was a soft 'click'; an honest invitation for him to go on and peruse its pages.

His hands shook slightly as he opened it, and he could feel his heart racing inside his chest, but he was not deterred. The first page was blank, so he turned to the next. This one was, like its precedent, all white parchment; and the next, and the next, and the one after that. Draco felt a strange sense of disappointment taking over. The whole book was blank; there were no signs of it ever knowing ink or charcoal. He held it up and shook it, feeling sceptical and pessimistic already.

From somewhere in its middle, a white envelope came fluttering down onto the floor.

The blond picked it up, frowning. It didn't have any markings either. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tore the edge and took out a folded sheet of parchment. He opened it up and nearly fell off of the bench, feeling tears rushing to the corners of his eyes without notice.

On the pristine whiteness of the parchment, written in golden ink that was practically invisible in the scarce light, was his mother's handwriting, tarnished by weakness and disease:

_My Dearest, my All, my Little Dragon,_

_If you're reading these lines, it means Albus Dumbledore has kept his promise. I am forever grateful for that. But at the same time my heart cries, for I couldn't be the one to carry you through these trying times. How I wish I could be there for you right now, my Love..._

_There is so much I have to tell you I don't even know where to begin. I only hope that once this humble letter is finished, you will be able to find it in your soul to forgive me. I want you to be certain, to be absolutely sure, that for everything I did or didn't do my only reason was your protection; please, don't condemn a mother for wanting to keep her only son out of harm's way. Now I know that my decision has caused you incredible pain and that will haunt me for the rest of my days and beyond. Once again, my Child, I ask for your forgiveness._

_You were so, so happy, Draco. Before him, you never smiled. I can go as far as to say that you didn't smile even in the privacy of your own thoughts... but that all changed when he came along. Your smiles told of joy and fulfilment, of companionship, of completion. You smiled like you were the bearer of the most amazing, beautiful secret in the world. Your eyes had never shone like that, and I could tell, just by one look, that he was the most important thing in your world. He was the light shining down your heart, and you were resolute to do anything to keep that light alive... even risk your own life. That was how great your love for him was; how I wish I had let myself see it back then. Today, all I have left is my guilt and regrets. Nothing I did prevented you from being taken from me in the end, and instead, you were the one who had something so special and priceless taken away. _

_I sinned of omission, my Son. I let my own fears and selfishness get in the way of your happiness. A mother should never have the right to decide her child's destiny like that, but I was scared and helpless. I thought I had the right reasons at the time, but now I know they were all excuses. Every time I talked to you I could see how hollow you were, how desolate, how empty. And even when I knew the truth, even when I knew I was the one that could save you so much pain, I said nothing, thinking that it was for the best; hoping you'd move on with your life, oblivious to the horrible damage that had been done to you. Of course, I couldn't have been more misled._

_Still, the day you came to me asking about the Visits I held my tongue. I saw your despair, your fear, your confusion, and yet, I didn't give you the only answer you should have gotten from me: the truth. I was terrified to realise the gravity of the damage that had been inflicted upon you; even when I knew you were in love with him, I had never imagined you had found your Soul Mate. It was such a powerful revelation that I found myself at a loss as to what to do. What could I have said to you, my Love? How could I tell you that you had been wounded so deeply, when you yourself didn't know it? What was kinder: to lie to you and let you have hope for the future, or to break your heart with a truth you wouldn't understand? Praying that I was doing what was best for you, I chose to lie and keep you in the dark until the day it would be inevitable to face the facts that would come; a day I hoped I would be able to see so I could tell you to your face why, with my silence, I was an accomplice to those who hurt you... But now I know I won't be granted that chance, and that, my Son, is my penitence._

_Instead, I only have these meagre words to express how sorry I am. I should have pushed aside my reservations and let you decide your fate, no matter how much pain it could have brought you. I feel so irreparably torn inside for having doubted your strength, your inner light. You've always, always made me proud, Draco, and I should have trusted without a doubt, I should have remembered, that there is nothing in this world that can keep you from what you want. It was this unwavering resolution that brought you two together, and I am certain that it will be this outstanding trait of yours that will show you your way home once again: right by his side. _

_I've been keeping this journal safe for nearly two and a half years, now. It has remained a candle in times of uncertainty, giving me strength whenever I ran out. It is a statute of the power of Love and the wonderful things it creates and nourishes; a reminder that, when one feels strongly enough, when one loves deeply enough, nothing is impossible. You have taught me that._

_Due to the intimate thoughts recorded, its owner thought it wise to protect it with special charms; I'm sure you'll figure out a way to access its contents. I denied you the answers once, my Son; something I'll regret until my time comes. Now, I'm returning to you one of the keys to your heart, hoping it's not already too late, and that it will give you some of the answers you're looking for. The other key, the most important one, is right within you; you just have to want it found. And when you do find it, you do whatever you have to, my Son. Nothing can separate what Love has brought together. They tried to break you, but they didn't know the power within you, Dragon. Do not let them win! Fight for what's meant for you and for you alone!_

_It's all about Love; nothing else matters. I understand that now._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Mother._

A warm, round tear crashed with the softest of sounds onto the white parchment, smearing the ink and leaving a golden stain where the word 'Sincerely' had once been. His heart ached so much he thought it would burst open. Surprisingly, he wasn't angry or disappointed at his mother's words. All he could feel was that unfathomable emptiness he had felt since he had learned about her death. He held the letter to his chest, pretending that by touching something she had held in her hands he could feel her; imagining that it was her gracious, delicate frame he was holding instead, smelling her sweet perfume, and resting his face in the soft curls of her hair; pretending, for one last time, that she had never left.

He didn't think he had ever needed her more.

Draco stayed like that for awhile, drowning in his thoughts and silent tears. Night had finally arrived and behind him the castle's windows were alive with light and activity. The air was chilly and somewhat humid, and he knew there would be a ghostly fog that evening, concentrating the aroma of the roses in the small garden. One by one the stars would appear on the black canvas; the full moon would shine upon the timid flowers and leaves, making them look like crystal and turning that corner of the world into something out of a fairy tale. He knew all that because he had been in that garden on a night like this, not so long ago, and it had been perfect; perfect because it had been just the two of them and the wind, the moon, and the stars witnessing the one event that had changed his life forever. The one moment he couldn't remember but for a faded notion of it ever happening; like the last traces of a dream before coming fully into wakefulness…

It was Potter.

It had always been _Harry Potter._

All those nights of sweet misery, of sinful abandon; all those nights he had been killed by pleasure to be resurrected by hope... _He_ had been the one responsible. It had been _his_ voice inside his head, telling Draco he was all he wanted; telling him it would always be just the two of them. It had been _his_ hands that had touched his body with so much need it burned his flesh. It had been _his_ mouth that had searched his so desperately; plundering, conquering, claiming...

It was Harry Potter the one he had secretly loved and longed for all this time. The same man he hated with a vengeance; the very man he had always blamed for so many wrongs in his life… Only it wasn't really that black and white with them, was it? It wasn't simple like that; things had never been 'simple' between him and Harry Potter. And it wasn't only discovering -or finally acknowledging- that Harry Potter was his Soul Mate… or that he had always meant everything in Draco's life. That was only the tip of the iceberg. The truly important matter lay beneath, submerged in complete darkness. Who knew what was lying under the surface, waiting to be brought back to the light? What if it wasn't worth remembering? Even worse yet, what if it _was_?

Why? Why had he... had _they_ had their memories erased? How many things couldn't he remember? How… _important_ were they? In his life of lies and disappointments, how many special things had been taken away from him? Could it be possible that he had been forced to forget the only beautiful moments he had ever had in his entire life?

"Draco..."

The blond turned around and saw his godfather approaching, wand alight and held up before him. Severus wore a hesitant expression that was certainly unbecoming of him, and it made Draco smirk for some reason. The Potions Master stopped beside him, eyeing the blond, the open journal on his lap, and the letter in his hands, but refrained from speaking.

"She knew about it." Draco waved the letter in one hand, sniffing and wiping his tears with the other. To Hell with being demure.

"May I…?" Severus asked in a cautious tone, and Draco nearly rolled his eyes. He handed the letter to him, and Severus read it under the light of his wand. After a couple of seconds, Draco thought he heard a sob coming from his godfather, but the pale man concealed it by clearing his throat.

"I had thought..."

"That she had been the one who did it?" Draco offered. "It crossed my mind, too; what with that bloody memory... She must have figured out the spell that was used to know I wouldn't remember that particular conversation." He paused for a few seconds as he stared at the journal. "I would have preferred it if she had been the one who did it, though," he added in a flat voice. Severus was surprised by the admission, and his puzzlement showed in his deep frown.

"Draco, you don't really mean that," he said, clenching his jaw.

"Of course I do! If it had been her, at least I would have known _why_ she did it! She wouldn't have meant to hurt me; she would have done it to protect me, however sick or twisted that could have been. But it was somebody else, and I don't have enough fingers on my hands and feet to count the possibilities! How am I supposed to fix this mess if I don't have a culprit or a motive or a bloody clue as to where to start looking for any of them?" He brushed his long hair back with his hands before settling his irises of steel on his godfather. "All I know is that whoever did this had too much at stake or thought that Potter and I being together was too much of a threat to attempt something like that."

Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously in the light of his wand.

"Are you suggesting I have something to do with this?" His voice was low, and it dripped liquid nitrogen.

"I have to consider all the possibilities, don't I? Wouldn't you do the same in my position? I mean, I was a spy at the time; I was collecting important information, and it was highly audacious of me to go around sleeping with the Golden Boy whilst mingling with Death Eaters," Draco drawled. "Too much of a liability, don't you think? Besides, you seem to know a _lot_ about Nesci Amator."

"I would _never_..." The Potions Master's face was the epitome of indignation, and Draco waved his hand tiredly, as if his godfather's antics bored him.

"I know you didn't do it, Severus. You are quite the Slytherin, but you forget I can read you like a book. You wouldn't be able to lie to me like that," the blond said casually, and Severus didn't know if he should feel cross or relieved by the statement. "In fact, I'm sure you didn't even know about Potter and I... Am I correct?" he added with a sly smirk.

Feeling at a loss for words, Severus settled with a curt nod of his head, and Draco smiled wickedly.

"I figured as much... You see, _I_, on the other hand, am way better at subterfuge." The Potions Master really tried to scowl at that, but the affection hidden behind his godson's sneer was his undoing.

"Oh, shut up, you demonic brat!" he said, suppressing a laugh, as he grabbed the aforementioned demon by the shoulder and commandeered him upwards. "It's late. We should go now or Dixie will have our heads."

"She'll want to have _your_ head, you mean?" the blond retorted, his voice ringing with innuendo, as he grabbed the dropped journal from the ground and brushed dirt from the back of his robes. Severus, by now immune to Draco's ability to turn the tables on anyone, merely scowled half-heartedly; feeling a flicker of hope for the first time since he had arrived at the Headmaster's office. His godson was strong. He would be fine.

"I was wondering when you'd come up with one of your infamous remarks," he drawled, giving Draco his letter as he pushed the iron gate open for his godson to pass. The blond took the proffered sheet of parchment, put it inside its envelope, and tucked it in his robe pocket.

"Well, I couldn't resist. You should have seen that one coming. Don't tell me you're getting too slow for me! Or should I say, too old?" There was the most angelic –and completely false- smile on his face.

"You never give up, do you?" Severus mock-hissed as both men started down the path to the gates, their wands lighting their way. Draco frowned, and his godfather sensed a sudden changed in the atmosphere.

"I don't have that luxury, do I?" he said briskly; his mercury gaze firmly locked forward.

Neither of the two men said a word after that last comment, but a tacit agreement had been settled between them; one neither of them needed to voice out loud to make official, as it had always been the only way for them: Draco would not rest until he found all his answers, and Severus would be right there to see him through, no matter how unbearable the burden proved to be.

Soon enough, they reached the gates and stepped out of the warded grounds. After a shared nod, both wizards disappeared with two simultaneous 'cracks' into thin air.

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Harry Potter was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, but today he decided he was going to skip the uncomfortable –albeit practical- use of Apparition in favour of a long and hopefully relaxing walk home. Luckily, he had decided to wear Muggle clothes underneath his Auror robes that morning.

If he had thought that the Ministry had been in mayhem after Draco's hearing, he wouldn't know how to describe the environment on its second floor; more specifically, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There had been –and probably still were- reporters everywhere, taking declarations from every single person in an official uniform about the 'Malfoy Magisterial Mistake', as they had baptized Draco's unfair trial and apprehension; Harry guessed that Luton and his lapdog of an assistant might be halfway across the globe by now. The fireplaces linked to the Department –and to the rest of the Ministry, for that matter- by the Floo Network had collapsed by mid-afternoon; they'd even got international calls from South America, for Merlin's beard! There were hordes of owls perched on the windowsills of the surrounding buildings; he hadn't seen so many birds since his first letter from Hogwarts, and even that paled in comparison. It had been an amazing sight, and he had had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing his arse off in his superiors' faces as they rushed to and fro to contain the mess they had created. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon; that should teach the bastards a lesson.

But as much as he had been up to his neck with things to do that afternoon, it hadn't done a thing to qualm his asphyxiating anxiety.

The streets of London were always busy no matter the time of day, and he found the urban activity unexpectedly soothing. People came and went about their own business; some were rushing home, some were heading for work, and some were just wandering around, enjoying a night out in the city. The traffic was hectic, as always, and the air was filled with all kinds of sounds. It was the distraction he needed, watching this semi-chaos going on around him instead of focusing on the turmoil of Big Bang-ish proportions taking place inside of him.

He crossed one street after the other, counting the buildings, the traffic signs, even the stalls on the sidewalk just to keep his mind occupied. The jacket he was wearing kept the night chill at bay but didn't do anything for the cold interred in his bones, in his soul. The sky was slightly cloudy; it would probably rain later on that night, but for the raven-haired Auror there was a hurricane already lashing at his heart, drowning him in doubt and confusion.

Harry firmly believed in instincts. In fact, he didn't think he would be alive today if it hadn't been for his 'lucky hunches', and thankfully, he had always had the sense to follow them, even when he encountered opposition on all sides. Granted, most of them always resulted in a life or death situation, but the important matter was that he had always been on the right track; the bonus action pack was just part of the job of being the Wizarding World's Designated Saviour. But right now, there was none of that unwavering confidence he had felt on those occasions. Right now, and probably for the first time in his life, he was torn between following common sense and going for what his heart was dictating to him. He was used to those two options never being one and the same, but in this case, the gap between them was so wide it bordered on irrationality.

He had returned to work that afternoon after his short –and in retrospection, rather uninspiring- 'talk' with Draco feeling as if the world had suddenly been turned upside down. He had followed his so-called instincts and gone after the blond Slytherin, not giving a damn about what he was doing or what it could possibly mean. He had just wanted to see Draco; to tell him all those things that had been swirling in his mind since the disclosure of the memories; hell, since the moment he saw him entering that courtroom. Harry hadn't really expected anything to happen. Granted, it would be completely hypocritical of him if he denied that he had wished for another opportunity to touch him, but he had known that it was out of the question. He couldn't just… reach out and grab him –unless he wanted to find himself crippled all of the sudden. Besides, it was _wrong_; so wrong on so many levels that even _wishing_ for the opportunity was unforgivable. Harry was quite aware of that. But he _had_ touched Draco. As if it were the most natural thing to do, he had _reached_ _out_ _and grabbed _his arm, overwhelmed by the need to have the blond near him for just a few more seconds.

It wasn't just the need, _per se, _that mattered, although, it made things more clear now. It was what he had _felt_ with that most feeble, most innocent of touches. Was it that he had finally taken his mind out of the gutter in that moment to realise it, he didn't know; but he was sure that Draco had felt it, too. Harry had seen it in the blond's face; the same incredulity, the same astonishment. Of course, before he could even begin to rationalise what had just happened, Draco had to be _Draco_ and pull a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on him, leaving him in that alley to rack his brains about what he could have possibly done to ensure such a reaction and to ponder until insanity everything that had just happened.

Perhaps that was it. He shouldn't have thought _that_ much.

There had been so much, and yet so little in that touch, that he was sure it couldn't be _normal_. 'Normal' was a slight stirring in the groin when seeing a nicely-toned body. 'Normal' was a fluttery feeling in one's stomach, or even a soft blush on the cheeks. It wasn't _normal_ to feel your whole body being shocked by a thousand watts, or knowing exactly what the other person was thinking, or feeling that you had to be close to said person or you were sure you would die of want. No. It was certainly _not_ a normal attraction that was going on between him and Malfoy... After all, he couldn't be considered one of the most powerful wizards of the age if he wasn't able to notice the subtle energy fluctuations that occurred between two bonded partners.

Now, _that_ was the eye of the storm, so to speak.

He spotted the small pub across the street from his apartment building and decided to go in for a beer… or four. He knew he shouldn't drink when he was in such a mental state, but the circumstances virtually compelled it. He entered the Irish tavern and headed towards the bar, finding an empty stool in the farthest corner. He had been there a couple of times before, and he found the cheery atmosphere of the small pub quite appealing. A box placed on the opposite side of the bar was showing a football game, and there were a few patrons gathered around it, holding their beers and shouting with and without reason. Several tables were already occupied even this early (it was only eight o'clock) and Harry guessed correctly that the place would be packed within the hour. Once, he would have scowled at the thought, but today he found that the last thing he wanted was solitude.

Harry ordered his beer, downing it in just a few swigs the second the bartender had placed it in front of him. A jukebox was playing some oldie in the background, and he wondered what was it with pubs like this one to always have both a TV set and a music system on at the same time. He pointed at his empty bottle and the bartender replaced it with a new one, which also received the same treatment as its predecessor.

As predicted, more people started to show up after Harry's third beer... or was it his fourth already? Couples, mixed groups, and the occasional lone wolf made their way towards the quickly-vanishing empty seats. The group around the telly had broken off after the game had ended and had taken their commentary to their respective tables. The music was loud and strumming and people's voices and laughter were starting to rise under the effects of their spirit of choice. All the while, Harry concentrated on numbing his brain, which was relentlessly revolving with thoughts of Draco Malfoy.

_Draco Malfoy_. Just thinking about that name made his head spin.

Out of its own volition, his traitorous mind started to conjure images of the blond Slytherin: Draco lying on his back, gloriously naked; his luscious mouth swollen from kissing and nibbling and his eyes half-closed and glassy with want. Harry could see him throwing his head backwards, biting his lower lip hard in need; exposing the delicate column of his throat that just begged for Harry's attention. His silvery-blond strands cascaded around his face and shoulders in delicious disarray, compelling Harry to run his hands through those silky locks, to drown in Draco's unique scent. He could hear the blond moaning as Harry trailed his tongue down his flushed neck, the hollow spot between his sharp collarbones, the hard planes of his chest; tasting the intoxicating mead of Draco's lustful sweat. He could feel the blond arching under him, releasing the most wonderful cries as Harry teased a rosy, erect nipple with his teeth; played with the soft, golden curls below the blonde's navel; ran his nails over that sensitive spot on his side; bit hard on a pale shoulder as he thrust deeper, harder, faster inside of him...

Harry opened his eyes to the amused look on the bartender's face and the charged atmosphere of a crammed-full pub. He was painfully hard and not just a little drunk, and he couldn't bring himself to wonder what he had done or said to earn himself the glass of dry scotch the man had placed before him with a knowing smirk on his face. To tell the truth, he didn't give a damn. He downed the contents in one gulp, feeling the hard liquor burn a path down his throat as he asked for the tab. A couple of minutes later he found himself out in the cold night, feeling no better than he had when he had entered the pub.

He crossed the street and went straight for his apartment building. The concierge eyed him curiously as he stumbled towards the elevator and pushed the button for his floor. Once outside his apartment door he fumbled for keys he couldn't find, and without further ado he muttered an unlocking charm. He closed the door behind him with a bang, turning on the lights as he walked into the living room... to stop dead in his tracks.

"Hello, Harry," Ginny said from the couch; her face unreadable.

"Ginny? What...What are you doing here?" Harry croaked out as he tried to cover his surprise by taking off his jacket and dropping it over the kitchen counter. Ginny didn't seem to register the thoughtlessness of his question.

"I Floo-ed the Ministry, but they said you had already left. I was worried. Where have you been?" She stood up, walking towards her fiancé; her chocolate gaze fixed on him.

"I… I stopped for a few drinks on my way home," Harry stuttered. "It has been a trying day." He couldn't find anything else to say.

"You forgot to call. And you're drunk," she said in a tone that implied disappointment. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms over her bosom, and Harry was assaulted by a wave of guilt when he remembered his broken promise. He couldn't look her in the eye.

"Yeah," he said eventually; although, which statement he was admitting to, he didn't know. Harry braced himself for the explosion that was guaranteed to occur. He was somewhat inebriated, but he wasn't so drunk as to delude himself into thinking that Ginny was not aware of everything that had transpired that day.

However, the shouting fit he had expected never came. Instead, Ginny's mouth was suddenly searching his desperately, and her soft curves were flush against him. One of her hands found its way down his front, rubbing his aching need though the rough material of his jeans whilst the other tangled itself in his hair, pulling at the black locks. Harry couldn't stop the guttural groan that escaped his lips.

"Oh, Circe, Harry! Where were you? I was so worried!" she gasped between their frenzied kisses, and the lust dripping from her voice sent a bolt straight to his groin. "Take me, Harry. I want to feel you. I need you," she moaned against his ear; her hands now pulling at his shirt.

"Oh, Ginny..." Harry responded by grabbing her roughly by the sides and holding her up, placing her legs around his waist as he pushed her against the wall; tugging her skirt up and over her thighs. Ginny managed to remove his shirt and started attacking his neck and collarbones, sucking roughly to leave a mark as she ran her nails down his back. Harry could feel the blood rushing from his head and down his body to flood through his throbbing member. He knew he couldn't wait any longer. Ginny pushed back to look at him with wanting, demanding eyes, and all he could do was sink into that familiar pool of desire and want; the only thing he could make any sense of in his shattered world. He opened his jeans' button and zipper with shaking fingers and, without hesitation, buried himself deep inside her welcoming heat. He didn't want to think anymore; he just wanted to let go and feel.

Harry closed his emerald eyes at the well-known sensations, to the wave of simple pleasure hitting his spinal chord; relishing in the safe haven he was being provided with as Ginny's moans and cries resonated loudly in his ears with each one of his hard, desperate thrusts.

But that was a mistake...

Inside his head, delicate curves gave way to sharp angles and chiselled planes; red curls turned into silvery-blond locks, and brown eyes glowed startling grey. The hands that were trailing heated paths over his shoulders and chest were no longer small and gentle, but strong and determined. The legs around his waist urging him deeper and faster were long and slender, and every inch of flesh he reached was firm and hard beneath his fingertips. Then, he was no longer in his living room, and it was not Ginny in his arms. Draco Malfoy was looking up at him, mercury eyes locked with his as he moaned and panted; the most delicious smirk Harry had ever seen etched on his parted, swollen, bitten lips.

_Fuck me, Harry… Fuck me hard… I want you all… Yes… Just like that… Oh, fuck!_

"Gods!" Harry yanked his eyes open at the same time his body crossed the edge of release. He came hard, furiously. His whole body was shaking, racked by the powerful wave of his orgasm. His eyes rolled to the back of his head; his heart was hammering in his chest and he was breathing in between short, painful gasps. He was being thoroughly kissed by an agile mouth, and his ears gathered the soft, intermittent words: "Yes, baby… Gods, that was good… Oh, Harry…"

His heart froze in his chest. He looked up to see the sedated, chocolate gaze of Ginny as she leaned her head against the wall. Her dress was ripped open and her legs were practically dangling around his waist. "I love you… Oh, how much I love you," she murmured; still lost in her afterglow.

Harry brought his arms around her lithe frame and held her fiercely against him as if she were a lifeline, feeling dread and despair spreading through him. His eyes stung with unshed tears and he shivered, helpless and confused. His breath caught in his throat as she pulled back and planted her feet on the floor with a smile, offering her hand to him. He took it without a second thought, and she led them into the bedroom, muttering a spell to turn off the lights.

She softly pushed him onto the mattress, magically removing both of their clothes clothes and getting them under the covers.

"I'm staying with you tonight," she said with a sly grin.

He didn't question her decision; he didn't even ask if it was wise, or if her parents would agree, as he would have done another time.

Harry just let her do as she pleased that night, because, for the love of all that was holy, he didn't know what to do anymore.

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TBC...


	8. The Other Face of the Mirror, Part I

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** T – PG-13 (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable… I hope.)

**Disclaimer:** I certainly don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe. I humbly bow before the goddess who created it and marvel at her genius, hoping to not awake her wrath at my pitiable attempts to do her creation justice with my amateur stories. I do own the plot, though; but I hope it's pretty superfluous of me to say that I'm not making a Knut out of it. It's just a faithful fan's work anyway, born out of the mere respect and awe for the wonderful characters she has fashioned. So please, don't sue.

**Author Note: (**Dodges rotten tomatoes thrown by irate readers) I'M SO, SO, SO SORRY FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS CHAPTER! I know my excuses will be completely pitiful to you, but still, I never expected to take this long! Real life has taken some unexpected turns lately (I might be moving to Toronto, Canada soon) and also the chapter became some sort of a monster. It grew a lot from my original outline (go figure! o0) to the point that I had to make it a two-part instalment. The second part will be posted in a few days… I promise!

Again, I'm really sorry for the long wait! You all have my unconditional love for all your support and wonderful reviews! Love you all!

Anyway. On with Chapter 7, Part One, then…

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter** **Seven**

The Other Face of the Mirror

(Part I)

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A high-pitched, unbelievably loud screech reminiscent of a campaigning Banshee crushed the stillness of the small bedroom. Harry sat up in a flash, looking wildly around for any signs of the disturbance, and thoroughly regretted the action when a sudden bolt of pain ran through his head. Wincing at the maddening sound, he finally recognized it as one of Ginny's 'Wake Up' spells. Groaning and muttering not-too-kind expletives, he flicked his right hand; half a second later the awful noise stopped abruptly, leaving thousands of tiny bells ringing in his ears. The magical clock on his bedside table smartly informed him that it was '_Time to Wake Up_', which, knowing Ginny, meant that it was too early still to be up: the redheaded girl had certainly inherited some of her mother's trademark habits.

The raven-haired man swung his legs over the side of the bed, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. _One would think the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World could hold his alcohol a little better_, he thought bitterly as he picked up his glasses from the nightstand and moved on unsteady legs to the bathroom. After taking care of his most pressing needs and putting on a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, he walked through the small living room into the adjacent kitchen, where an Ever-Hot pot of coffee was waiting for him next to a folded piece of parchment with the words 'Read Me' written on top of it in Ginny's flowery script. Harry picked up the note and read:

_I didn't want to wake you when I left. Coffee has Hangover Potion mixed in it. You should have known better!_ Here she had drawn one of those animated smiley faces she was so fond of using; it was sticking its tongue out at him, and Harry's lips turned into a pathetic scowl at the sight of it. _Don't forget dinner today at seven; Mum wants to discuss some of the places we've been looking at. We'll talk then. Good luck today at work! P.S: Had a good time last night..._ A pink kiss stamped on the paper was what she used for a signature, and the raven-haired man stared at it for some time, unable to discern the maelstrom of feelings taking place in his already upset stomach.

Holding back a moan of misery, Harry grabbed the pot of coffee and poured himself a cupful. He had been considering not taking any Hangover Potion, at least not for a few more minutes, just so he could enjoy a head free of undesirable thoughts –never mind the pounding headache- for a little bit longer; but it seemed that his caffeine addiction was more compelling and the strong aroma coming from the steaming cup too much of a temptation, for he ended up giving up on his petty whims and took a sip of the hot, black liquid. Harry closed his eyes in pure bliss as he felt the nearly-instantaneous effects of both the dark brew and the healing potion.

Early morning sunlight entered freely through the windows, bathing the white walls of the adjacent living room in bluish shades. Harry moved and sat on his cosy, red leather sofa and propped his bare feet on the small coffee table, cup in hand. The only other furniture around him were two second-hand, mis-matched armchairs, an old bookcase filled with pictures and Quidditch memorabilia, and a small wall unit housing his TV set, stereo system, and DVD player. Harry stared at his scarce possessions with an air of melancholy as he sipped at his coffee, feeling his headache recede almost completely.

His flat wasn't much in terms of luxury and space; in fact, the heating broke down constantly and the traffic noise coming from the outside was unbearable at rush hours, but it was _his_. His place. Not a cupboard, not a spare room, not a shared dorm, but his own, self-maintained, rented apartment. There might be a few cranky floor neighbours that he tolerated out of sheer politeness and the concierge was a completely meddlesome pain in the arse, granted, but that didn't really bother him. It wasn't as if he hadn't had to endure worse before. And he really was comfortable here. Living in a Muggle district allowed him the little privacy he could have being who he was -nosy neighbours put aside- and he didn't really need a steadfast heating system when he could very well cast a Warming Charm. But apparently, his flat was too small, too cold, too bare; the building was too old, it couldn't be connected to the Floo Network as it simply didn't have any chimneys, and the location was just 'wrong', as Mrs. Weasley was always so keen to remind him: there were no parks, no schools, no sites of interest in the near vicinity except for the few bars and commodity shops on his block. In short, his little haven was, plainly put, a bachelor crib, and was in no way suited for a young married couple, not to mention a family home…

"Bloody Hell," he swore quietly, his face grim as he looked into the black depths of his mug. A few seconds passed by and it still hadn't revealed any answers, nor had it magically erased everything that had transpired yesterday. Perhaps he was simply asking for too much, as always.

People use to say that everything is brighter in the morning; that things don't seem as impossible with the arrival of a new day, when one's head is clear and open. Harry knew by experience that that was pure rubbish. When the new day comes, the initial shock has faded; therefore, one is able to realise exactly how _fucked up_ things are. That doesn't make them any easier. That only makes them more real and inevitable. That only makes it imperative for you to move and deliver.

At least in theory.

Harry sighed in the solitude of his living room, staring at one of the magical pictures –one of him and Ginny at the Burrow- sitting on the bookcase. He honestly didn't know what to do this time. It wasn't as if he could show up in his shiny Auror robes, throw a couple of hexes here and there, and save the day again. That was what he was trained to do; that's how he knew how to handle 'tough' situations; but this was not the kind of circumstances he was used to dealing with, and Harry had to admit it to himself: he was in way over his head. He felt as if he had stepped into one of those Salvador Dali paintings Hermione loved so much.

The irony of it all was so unfathomable Harry thought it might just choke him. _Marriage. Family. Children. Home. Bond. _Funny how those five little words are so seemingly, so easily interconnected. They belong together; they complement each other, as if they'd been conceived from the same concept, sprung from the same source. Love, isn't it? They have worked together for generations and generations of human evolution, as if part of some universal order, some carefully-balanced equation. Then why, in Merlin's beard, did it always seem that, when it came down to him, not even the simplest, most basic rules applied? Why did everything have to turn into a big, twisted mess with Harry Potter?

To be completely honest, he wasn't even sure if he believed in Love… at least in the everlasting, unconditional type, which in itself was another irony altogether. His mother had died for him because she loved him; it was her Love which had protected him from the most evil of forces and yet, Harry had never had the chance to be truly touched by it, to _experience_ it; he had been merely a baby when that same Love wrenched his chances away. Growing up, Love remained a mysterious subject, as well; the Dursleys might have taught him many things about life and people, but 'Love' was certainly not in the syllabus. His friends loved him dearly, and yes, he believed he loved them back. They cared for each other and were always there whenever the other needed them, but would they jump in front of the Killing Curse for him without hesitation, without a second thought, as his mother had? What is more, would _he_, really?

Was it unbelievably selfish of him to even be pondering that?

Ginny always said she loved him, and he supposed –no, scratch that; he _knew_ it was true, for she had proved it in many ways. She had waited for him, she had understood him when the moment came; she had given him all her support, always. But there were times when these hideous doubts would sneak into his head and whisper to him that she would have never looked at him twice if he weren't _Harry_ _Potter_. It felt awful to question her feelings like that, but sometimes he couldn't help it; he was only human –Colin Creevey's beliefs notwithstanding. Nevertheless, would she love him the same if he were an ordinary lad; if he wasn't the great promise everybody said; thought he was? Did she love Harry Potter, the _man_, or was she in love with Harry Potter, the myth? Of course, she had had all the time in the world to get to know who he truly was beyond all the crap _The Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ kept printing on their front pages, but Harry had learned the hard way that not even his closest friends were impervious to confuse the two...

Maybe that was the reason why he could never tell Ginny he loved her while looking her in the eye. How could he, when he wasn't even sure he knew what it really _felt _like to love and to be loved? Perhaps he just didn't really love her like he should. Perhaps he was just letting himself get caught up in the circumstances. Perhaps he was so desperate to know what Love is that he was willing to bargain any kind of affection so he could at least have a glimpse of the real thing.

Was he a bad person for that?

No, _he wasn't_. It wasn't his fault that he had become an orphan at fifteen months of age. It wasn't his fault that he had grown up with relatives who despised him and reminded him what a disgrace he was every single day. It wasn't his fault that the first real hug he had ever gotten had come from his best friend's mother, just as it wasn't his fault that he had been welcomed into their family, that he was cherished and cared for as one of their own. And it surely wasn't his fault if he was reluctant to let that go, lest he wouldn't be able to find it anywhere else...

Oh, what in Merlin's name was he _thinking_? Of course he loved Ginny! He was very happy with her and he did want to marry her! Why the hell did he propose, then, if he wasn't sure about their feelings for each other; if he doubted that she was the one for him? It was this… _bond_ talking; that was it! It was confusing him and making him think about things he had never thought about –or _felt_, for that matter- before! He would not have _any_ of it, especially not _now_, when his life was finally starting to make some sense! He deserved happiness! He deserved some stability in his life! It was about time that he got off this rollercoaster ride for once and for all!

Placing his half-emptied cup on the table a bit too harshly, Harry leaned back on the couch and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He couldn't allow the situation –however unbelievable and dreadful as it might be- to throw him off-centre. He destroyed a bloody Dark Lord when he was seventeen years old; surely he could deal with this? He just had to be rational. He just had to focus on the problem at hand and _think_. Nothing happens for no reason; everything _has_ a logical explanation, no matter how unlikely. He just had to figure out what it was he was missing so he could come up with a solution.

"Ok, Harry," he breathed. "Focus now. What do you know about bonds?"

He pressed hard at his temples as he closed his eyes and concentrated. The memory came to his mind as soon as he summoned it. Charms Class, Sixth Year. It had been very cold that day, being the end of winter. Ron had been complaining about his runny nose the whole morning and Hermione had fussed about him not taking the Tylenol tabs she had offered him for his cold. The class had been somewhat boring, as it had only been theory; they hadn't been allowed to attempt the Bonding Charms on each other. Harry could almost see old Professor Flitwick in front of him, standing on a pile of dusty books, going on and on about the significance of Bonding Magic...

_There are two major types of Bonding Charms, and each one has several variations, depending on the level of commitment the witch or wizard is aiming for_, Flitwick had said. _The first one, which happens to be the most common, is the Magical Oath –or Wizards Oath, as most people call it. It's a magical contract, which may be pledged to others or to oneself. One swears to uphold the clauses specified in the Oath, and depending on which type of oath one is agreeing to, failing to comply with its specifications may incur temporary or life-long consequences and, in some cases, immediate death. Some examples of Magical Oaths are the Unbreakable Vow and some forms of _Fidelius

_The second type is the Magical Mark_, Flitwick had continued after a brief interruption caused by one of Hermione's questions; Harry remembered that his –and most of the class', really- curiosity had peaked considerably by that point. _This Bonding Charm is one of the most elaborated and customizable of the two. The parties swear an oath, very much like a Magical Oath, but there's also the stamping of a special symbol on a place of choice on their bodies as a tangible reminder of their agreement. This mark creates a magical link –a 'bond'- between the partners that cannot be broken unless the contract is terminated, which is, more often than not, by death. In ancient times, the Magical Mark was used between spouses to seal their wedding vows. However, few wizards and witches perform this charm as part of their nuptial ceremonies nowadays, preferring the subtler, less permanent wedding band as a symbol of their union._ People had laughed then -Harry hadn't been able to- as Professor Flitwick gave them one of his mildly-reproving frowns. _Nevertheless, it doesn't mean it's not still being used_. _The Magical Mark can take many forms and adapt to many, many purposes. It's a very powerful, very delicate type of Bonding Charm, and like any Charm, must not be taken lightly._ That particular comment had brought about a deep, nervous silence from the class, and Harry had been quite aware of the not-so-subtle stares he was receiving from his fellow classmates.

_However, there is a different kind of Bonding Magic_; _one that is completely independent of control or intent, and which, unfortunately, has fallen prey to a lot of speculation and superstition_, the professor had continued in his usual light-hearted way, which always helped defuse a charged atmosphere._ The Natural Bond is different from the rest simply because it is, as it's name infers, created 'naturally' between the parties under very specific, very special circumstances. It's not the result of any incantation or ritual, and therefore, its properties may vary significantly with any given case, as there are not two Natural Bonds alike. As for these special circumstances in which a Natural Bond _may_ be formed –for, as we already know, there is nothing definite with Magic- we can count, for example, the relationship between a mother and her child or between twin siblings. Also, there are records of Natural Bonds being formed due to a powerful Life Debt. For generations, wizards have tried to reproduce the benefits of these bonds but have been unsuccessful so far, as nobody really knows what makes two independent souls bind so spontaneously, so intimately together, to the point –in some cases- of relying entirely on each other for their survival… _

Harry had felt somewhat unnerved by that last statement. The infamous prophecy had been a constant weight in his mind back then, and it hadn't been few the times he wondered –and feared- how much of themselves he and Voldemort truly shared. It wasn't surprising, then, that he could barely recall Hermione making another one of her comments; one that had interested him for a reason, but he couldn't remember what it was about at the moment. Flitwick had resumed the lesson shortly after, and Harry supposed he must have been caught in his own thoughts –of darkness and evil madmen, no doubt- for he couldn't tell what else was said until the end of class. Gratefully, he had been more focused during Auror Training, where they had run over the most basic aspects of Magical Bonds: some Magical Bonds create a psychic link between the two partners, enabling them to sense each other's emotions, and even their thoughts in some cases; most Magical Bonds require constant physical closeness; the most powerful Magical Bonds are nearly impossible to break.

Right now, Harry knew just one thing: whatever this bond between Malfoy and himself meant, it didn't spurt over night.

_How truly perceptive of you, Potter_, he thought sombrely, and his own inner voice sounded much more like Snape's than he was comfortable with.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! This is pointless! I have a life, damn it! If Voldemort and his minions couldn't ruin it, this bond certainly won't! I have to get ready for work. Because I have a job now. A real one. A _normal_ one. And a fiancé. I don't have time for this rubbish," Harry added after a short pause, exasperated. He was very aware that he was talking to himself, but he didn't care what it might say about his current state of mind; he didn't have to be a genius to know he was not 'okay' at the moment. Who would be, under the circumstances? This was the most impossible of impossible situations! How could he even begin to plan a course of action when he didn't even know how he had gotten himself into it in the first place? Who could he turn to for help? Worse yet, how could he attempt to explain it to somebody else when he himself didn't understand it at all? If he had to choose, the only person he would turn to about this would be Albus Dumbledore, but _one_, it would be quite embarrassing for Harry to explain the most… _significant_ aspects of what he'd been experiencing to his old Mentor, and _two_, he really didn't want to find out what Dumbledore, being the batty wizard that he was, would come up with for a solution; Merlin knew Albus sometimes overestimated his own abilities, which was not denying the powerful wizard that he was, but… _Oh, shit!_ Did Albus know about the bond? It would be stupid of Harry to think he didn't… Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! Apart from himself, who _else_ had been able to pick on the bond's vibe? What if the press found out about it? It would be nothing short of Judgement Day arriving early; that much was for certain…

_Gods_. This was, without a doubt, the most disheartening trail of thought to have at 7:30 in the morning, twelve hours before facing his fiancé and her exuberant family to discuss their approaching wedding.

Harry picked up his half-forgotten cup of coffee, feeling cantankerous and frustrated beyond belief, and was about to take one last sip of the cooling beverage –his head completely clear by now… most _regrettably_- when his eyes fell on another one of the moving pictures on his bookcase. It was a picture of Hermione and himself, standing under their favourite tree by the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. It had been taken during their Seventh Year, before Hogwarts was closed. Harry couldn't tell how many times he had looked at that photograph, so he was very familiar with the smiling faces and the enthusiastic waving being performed by their pictured selves. This time, however, there was a person in the background, half-hidden by some trees near the frame, Harry was quite sure hadn't been there before. He deposited the mug on the table once more, stood up, and moved towards the bookcase.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," he breathed, utterly dismayed, when he picked up the magical photograph.

Draco Malfoy was leaning against one of the trees behind him and Hermione, apparently reading, but Harry noticed that he would send furtive glances from time to time to where he and Hermione were standing. Harry was about to touch the picture Malfoy, mystified, when the little blond realised that he was being watched and moved quickly to hide behind the tree, completely out of sight.

"What is happening between us, Draco? What have you done to me?" he muttered, staring at the spot where the picture Draco had just been. Harry waited a few moments to see if the proud Slytherin would step out of his hiding place, and when it was obvious that he wasn't going to, the raven-haired man put the picture back again in his place, brow furrowed. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Evidently, Malfoy had always been in the photograph; he just hadn't let himself be seen. Another irony if Harry ever knew one. He'd had a picture of Draco Malfoy, the pivotal key in his current mess, for _years_ now sitting on his bookcase, and he just found out about it _today. _

This was bordering on fatuous.

The raven-haired man shook his head, feeling a strange urge to laugh hysterically. Draco Malfoy. _Draco Malfoy._ The name sounded so alien and yet so strangely familiar coming out of his mouth…

Harry couldn't remember the exact moment he realised he didn't 'hate' Draco anymore, but he was sure it hadn't been yesterday. Somewhere between that last quarrel at the end of fifth year and leaving Hogwarts to face the recently-saved, real world, all that animosity he had felt towards the blond Slytherin had completely disappeared. Lost its appeal; its relevance. Once, Harry would go mad trying to figure out what the haughty boy was up to next; in fact, he had even thought at one point that there was a distinct possibility that he was obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Harry had practically lived for those heated moments in the corridors, the vicious glares during Potions Class, the airborne battles on the Quidditch Field. Draco, in all his infuriating, sardonic, condescending glory, somehow reminded him that he could still be a normal boy; that he could have inconsequential things on his mind other than facing certain death at the age of sixteen. In a way, Harry was grateful for the respite.

But all that changed and the time came for Harry when all that mattered was fulfilling his imposed duty and survive, relegating Draco and their epical parody to a point where he practically didn't even exist for the raven-haired wizard anymore. Actually, Harry didn't think he had thought about the blond at all during those last three years. Even when he had led the inquiries for Draco's case, he had carried his duty with some kind of detachment; it was just another job to get done. Hell, he had completely forgotten about the damn hearing! That's how much Draco Malfoy mattered to him. Harry truly regretted it now, though. If he had paid more attention to Draco in the past, things would have been quite different now, like Dumbledore had said in that memory. Although, how exactly so, Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Still, there was a time when Draco Malfoy was all he could think about. The blond had always been at the forefront of his thoughts in one way or another since the day Harry had first laid eyes on him at Madam Malkin's: Malfoy and his hideous attitude, Malfoy and his stupid goons, Malfoy and his childish pranks, Malfoy and his evil father, Malfoy the juvenile Death Eater, Malfoy and his stupid hatred. Malfoy always grating on his nerves; Malfoy always sending him to the edge; Malfoy always, stubbornly, irritably, irremediably _there_!

Until he wasn't. The next thing Harry knew, Draco Malfoy was completely insignificant to him, and all that… _passion_ or hatred or whatever that had once unwillingly drawn him to the pointy-faced boy faded away like wisps of smoke, leaving but a blurred image of a past had-been that ultimately hadn't been anything at all.

"Until yesterday…" Harry murmured, deep in thought.

Insistent tapping shook him from his mental wanderings –noticing just then that he had been staring at the photograph all this time- and Harry looked up to see a brown owl perched outside on his windowsill. The raven-haired man moved on weary legs to open his window, pushing his glasses over his nose as he did so. The owl came inside with a swirl of wings and landed gracefully on top of the back of the closest armchair.

Harry hadn't yet untied the scroll of parchment from its leg and he already knew who had sent the letter. His flat was protected with special Warding Charms; he didn't want to be in a position where he'd have to explain to hysterical Muggles why their precious building had been taken over by hundreds of feathered assailants –or dozens of masked lunatics, for that matter- thus only a handful of people knew how to contact him by Owl Post. A bright grin appeared on his face as he broke the crimson wax seal. Amongst those people were Angelina, Mrs. Weasley –who unlike the rest of her family was still reluctant to use the cell phone Harry had given Ron for his birthday; plus, she was always sending him food and whatnot-, Fred and George –who, although they loved Muggle technology, still thought that Owl Post was the best way to handle… er… _special_ packages-, Dumbledore, Remus, and…

_Monday, September the 10th, 2001 _

_Dearest Harry, _

_Paris is wonderful! You have no idea how much fun I've had! The weather is simply lovely, and there are just so many things to do here… it's like visiting for the first time! The lecture on 'Magical Ecological Economy and Its Impact on Large-Scale Potion-making' was astoundingly informative; although, I hardly concur with Le Roche's theories on 'zodiacal harvesting', as he calls it. 'Each magical herb and fungi is intrinsically linked to a particular zodiacal sign; there's a 40 possibility that crops would turn out to be three times more productive, resulting in a significant saving on land and human resources, if the cultivation processes were to be attuned to their specific sign's annual cycles', he proposed. Can you _believe_ that? I've never heard such rubbish since third year! There was a moment when I almost thought I was back in Trelawney's classroom. Ugh! I still shudder at the memory. Still, I sat through the whole thing because Zachariah Manistee's thesis on the preservation of magical ecosystems was right after it, and I simply wasn't going to miss _that_ one… _

"Of course not, Mione," Harry chuckled softly, his eyes unusually bright, as he read his best friend's missive which, as always, was several inches long – made of recycled parchment, of course. Hermione considered the Owl Postal Service one of the Wizarding World's most significant traditions, so she was very adamant on its continual use to guarantee its perpetuation. For a Muggleborn witch, she was very old-fashioned in many ways.

Harry dropped unceremoniously into a chair and adjusted his glasses once more. His friend's handwriting was crisp and fluid, with not a dot or a dash missing. Harry felt an awful pang of guilt as he remembered his earlier thoughts, and not only because right then he realised how much he had missed the bushy-haired witch; he seriously could do with some of her advice at the moment. Smiling sheepishly, he returned his attention to the letter.

_How's everything back home? How's work? Is Ron still mad I didn't allow him to home-sit my flat whilst I was gone? You know how he gets around the computer! (Last time he formatted the hard drive –he still denies it to this very day- and I had to reinstall everything! Not to mention all the data I lost! Thank goodness I had most of it backed up in my laptop and the zip unit was hidden in my panty drawer.) _

_Ginny mentioned in her letter that Malfoy's hearing was today. I haven't had the chance to check the evening newspapers yet –we've been locked in the auditorium all day- so I can only imagine how it went. I have the slight suspicion that Malfoy got out of it somehow, didn't he? I mean, if _your_ team didn't find anything to incriminate him, I doubt there was anything there at all. And don't you dare tell Ginny I said that! _

_I'm coming back home on Wednesday around 4 p.m. Maybe I can come over so we can have dinner or something? I'll tell you everything about my trip, and you can tell me about the hearing; you know I always prefer a firsthand account of events! How does 8 o'clock sound? That way I have time to rest a bit and spend some time with Crooks –hopefully he won't hate me so much for abandoning him this time. Honestly, that cat's getting moodier every day! Do you think he needs a girlfriend? Not that he doesn't spend every single night gallivanting around the neighbourhood…Oh, well. I'll get him some special treats at the Patisserie; you know how much he loves éclairs. I'll get us some for dessert, as well; there is this charm I learned from Messier Mignon (the hotel's chef) to keep soufflés and such things fresh that I want to try. _

_Anyway, it's almost time for dinner at the salon, so I have to go. You know I've never liked scheduled meals, but here they help with the socializing, so I can't complain. Take care, Harry, and we'll see each other soon! _

_Much love, _

_Hermione. _

_PS: Oh, I almost forgot! I visited the Centre Pompidou yesterday. It's simply astonishing, Harry! It takes my breath away every time I step foot in there. You have to promise to visit it someday! There's this ongoing exhibition on the Dada movement… I have no words for it! There were a few paintings by the Brazilian surrealist Ivo Blasi which truly intrigued me. Fascinating pieces, really. I know you think that Surrealism doesn't have any sense whatsoever and it's like stepping into 'the twisted mind of some wacko', but Harry, that's exactly it! The only way you'll ever understand the meaning, the reason behind all of it, is allowing yourself to get caught inside the dream and look at it from the inside; to let your subconscious tell you what your conscious mind doesn't permit. You'd be surprise at the wisdom it hides… _

Harry stared at the crisp parchment without really focusing on what was written on it. For some reason, his friend's words had steered his thoughts towards a completely different subject, compelling his uncooperative brain into action. Just as if some switch had been flicked inside his head, his mind started tying up apparent loose ends and unrelated events, pinpointing bits of conversation and facts and extrapolating them into his current predicament in a bash of unprecedented concentration. All of the sudden, a spark of inspiration like none he had had in a long time flashed right through him.

_Until yesterday. _

"The memory..." Harry stated; his green eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh, Hermione! You're _brilliant_!" he exclaimed, jumping from the armchair. He grabbed the forgotten cup of coffee from the table and sprinted to pour its cold remnants into the drain, leaving it unwashed in the kitchen sink before rushing towards his bedroom, ignoring the owl's indignant hooting and fluttering.

"Ok, Harry. You need a plan," he told himself; determination filling his every cell. First things first, though: a cold shower to clear his head. Then, he'd have to make a few calls. The owl could wait a few minutes after such a long trip, couldn't it?

Whatever. He was a man on a mission, and he had very important things to do today. He'd worry about duty later.

For once.

ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº

"Don't tell me you've been here all night."

Severus Snape walked into the dim-lit library of Snape Manor with his unique, detached grace and that seemingly-perpetual scowling expression on his face that somehow played an interesting contrast with his more relaxed morning attire, which consisted of black tailored trousers and a pale grey, collarless shirt. His footsteps were muffled on the plush carpet, but he knew that his presence had not gone unnoticed, despite the lack of response.

The Snape library was quite impressive: a regal room decorated with dark wood furnishings and dark green fabrics that took up most of the west wing on the second floor of the mansion. Countless stands and racks sat against almost every wall housing thousands of volumes, Muggle and Magical alike, catalogued by subject, author, and timeline; an excellent collection -considered one of the best in the whole of Wizarding Britain- which in itself spoke of the inquiring nature of the exceptional minds bred by the Snape bloodline for generations. There were several workstations placed in strategic spots around the room, elaborately carved and surprisingly comfortable, specially designed for long hours of study. The illumination was provided by beautiful bronze candelabra hanging from the ceiling when the rich velvet curtains were drawn, which was the case today. A grand marble fireplace on the left wall was always lighted no matter the season, giving the room an almost unexpected cosiness, that combined with the smell of polished ebony and ageless parchment lingering in the air complemented and in some ways even enhanced the whole scholarly atmosphere. If Draco had indeed spent the whole night here as Severus presumed, it wouldn't be such a surprise. Time didn't exist in the house of Athena.

"You should have gotten some rest, Draco. You had quite a stressful day yesterday," Severus commented when his godson still hadn't acknowledged him. The blond wizard, currently surrounded by piles and piles of books and parchments, finally looked up from his spot at one of the desk tables in the middle of the room and regarded him with a sneer of his own.

"I didn't know you cared," he said lightly, returning to his perusing of old, yellowing pages and note-taking. The Potions Master gave him a devious look before moving towards the large windows on the adjacent wall and drawing the heavy curtains open with a resounding 'whoosh'. Morning sunshine poured into the spacious room like liquid gold, making the blond man squint at the sudden brightness.

"I had those closed for a reason, you know?" Draco whined petulantly as he closed the book he had been reading and proceeded to rub his eyes. He hadn't quite finished his sentence when dozens of owls appeared out of nowhere and started tapping incessantly on the immaculate glass of the windows. Severus gave the birds a disgusted look before directing his narrowed eyes to his godson.

"If you don't do something about those damn pests, believe me, I will. I know there _must_ be some use for owl entrails," he said lowly, now glaring poisoned daggers at one particularly relentless tawny, which was pushing its claws and beak through a small gap between the window panels, working to push it open. Draco resisted the urge to laugh at his godfather's antics and settled for sitting back in his chair.

"It's not my fault that I'm adored by the public," he commented with a cheeky grin as he stretched like a Siamese cat. The blond then clapped his hands lazily and, two seconds later, Dixie the house-elf was standing right next to him.

"Good morning, Master Draco, Sir. What is Master wanting, Sir?" she said in her unmistakably screechy voice as she bowed deeply before him. Draco regaled her with one of his most infamous, sugar-coated smiles.

"Good morning to you, too, Dixie. I would like some coffee, please. I don't know if my godfather wants anything," he said sweetly, pointedly looking at the black-haired man now flapping and 'shoo'-ing angrily at the invaders, who had joined efforts with the tawny owl in its clever endeavour. The house-elf jumped at the sight of her favourite master and stared at him with the brightest smile to ever adorn a house-elf's face.

"Master Snape! Dixie didn't know Master was already awake! Is Master wanting his breakfast, Master, Sir? Dixie will have it ready as quick as lightning, Sir!"

"Master is not hungry this morning, Dixie. Master has suddenly lost his appetite," Severus scowled as he settled in one of the armchairs scattered near the desk Draco occupied, begrudgingly admitting defeat against the horde of owls. "Although, Master would like some dark tea, now that he thinks about it," he muttered as an afterthought, ignoring Draco's amused look. The house-elf bowed low and happily before she disappeared with a loud '_pop'_.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked at last with an innocent smile. Severus stopped brushing invisible lint from his shirt to give him a flat look.

"No thanks to you. Those damn owls have been tapping on every window in this damn house all night. I'm starting to think I would have preferred your sultry moans," he added in a tone dripping sarcasm. Draco threw his head back as he let out a bark of laughter.

"I told you, you enjoyed it!" he teased as he brushed blond locks from his mercury eyes with a casual gesture. "Unfortunately for you, I spent all night doing research... for nothing." There was a dry scowl on his face as he waved dismissively towards the piles of books on the desk. Severus raised one dark eyebrow.

"And what, pray tell, are you researching?"

The blond let out a long-suffering sigh. "Wouldn't you want to know," he drawled as he sank deeper into the chair. Severus glared at him. "Oh, well. I started with Nesci Amator, but there was nothing about it... At least nothing more than what I already knew. Then I moved to Locking and Guarding Spells for personal journals..." He gestured to the black diary lying on top of some parchment, glaring at it. "And _then_ I switched to magical bonds." He gave a very unbecoming grunt. "I wish I hadn't."

Severus stood up from his chair and moved to peer over Draco's shoulder at his notes. Picking up one of the open books, he regarded his godson with a disbelieving, almost mocking look.

"'_Breaking Magical Bonds and Where to Start Digging Your Own Grave'_?" he inquired, reading the title of the book.

Draco snatched the rather-thick tome from his godfather's grasp and dropped it on the desk. "I told you, I have to take all the possibilities into consideration."

"And you seriously think that breaking the bond you share with Potter will solve all your problems?" There was a condescending smile on the black-haired man's face. Draco glared at him for a few moments before he gave up, shaking his head.

"It's even worse than I had originally thought." He leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the desk to rest his face in his hands. "Attempting to break a Magical Bond can shut down a person's Magic permanently, but just the consequences of long-term separation for bonded partners are incredibly harmful, as well. Magical drain, physical exhaustion, mental degeneration…" Draco sighed, tilting his head to one side to look at his godfather from under his blond locks. "I suppose that in my case Animus Salutor mitigated the effects somehow, but who knows for how long? Until the Parts are reunited, all of their individual power is spent on trying to maintain the bond, as it no longer has access to the energy created by their joint magical fields. One becomes the bond's battery, so to speak, and if a reunion never happens, eventually, that's what kills you. The bond sucks you dry. Like a blood-thirsty leech." He paused for a moment before adding slowly, dryly, "I won't let that happen to me. Even if I end up a damn Squib."

"I appreciate your flair for the dramatic, Draco, but surely you see that you're taking this a little too far. Since when did you become such an extremist?" Severus sneered at his godson's indignant scowl as he moved a nearby chair in front of Draco's desk and sat down.

"You just don't understand anything, do you?" Draco spat. "Extreme, you say? Well, extreme circumstances call for extreme measures, and I certainly can't think of anything more outrageous than this whole mess! I remember all the times I wished Potter was dead; of every single time I actually thought of doing it _myself_… And now, everything I am is linked to him!" he said between gritted teeth. "Did you know that this bond enables him to sense my emotions, that he can even have access to my mind? For Merlin's beard, if something happens to him, I will _feel_ it, as if it were happening to _me_!"

The Potions Master regarded him silently for a few moments. "Yes," he admitted. "But the connection is mutual. It's a defence mechanism, and it only works under special circumstances." He steepled his fingers under his chin. "It could prove beneficial sometime, when…" he trailed off, giving his godson a meaningful look.

"When _what_? When we get together? Or when this whole mess is out in the open and he realises he can't handle the pressure? Surely he'll use his end of the bond to get back at me for ruining his perfect life," the blond muttered, grey eyes narrowed.

"Draco, you must give Potter the benefit of the doubt. For _your_ own sake," Severus said seriously. Draco laughed, albeit humourlessly.

"I can't believe _you_ just said that," he snorted. "You of all people should know he'll play this bond to his advantage!"

"Oh, and you won't?" Severus asked flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Only if necessary. 'The end justifies the means'," Draco reminded absentmindedly as he examined his fingernails. He could feel his godfather's fixed stare, but he was reluctant to concede.

"Which in this case is?"

The tone Severus used made it quite clear that he was starting to lose his patience, but Draco knew his godfather enough not to consider it a threat... just a bit of a nuisance. He knew perfectly well that what was fuelling his godfather's sudden antagonism was worry. Honestly, the man worried too much! Draco was an adult now; he could take care of himself. In fact, he had been doing so for quite a while. He didn't need to discuss his decisions with anybody... even less so _this_ particular decision.

The blond regarded his godfather with a mischievous sneer. "You don't actually believe I'm going to tell you all my evil plans?" he retorted cheekily, raising one thin, pale eyebrow. "First rule in the Spy's Handbook, Severus: 'Do not take anything for granted'."

"Oh, just like 'Consider all variables', I presume?" Severus said sardonically. "You say you want to take all possibilities into consideration, but you're ruling out the fact that Potter may actually want to be involved. You're letting this so-called vendetta of yours cloud your judgement!"

"And you've spent too much time in the old coot's company. Next thing you'll know, you'll start carrying around Chocolate Frogs in your robe pockets," Draco drawled, glancing irritably at the windows. The owls hadn't stopped their attack and the continuous rattle was starting to grate on his nerves. He idly wondered if it was against any wizarding law to cast _Petrificus Totalis_ against Ministry property. In any case, he could plea 'not guilty', alleging temporary insanity, but he didn't think he was up to facing another tribunal from the defendant dock any time soon.

"As much as it pains me to admit it," Severus started, pointedly ignoring his godson's last remark, "Albus is right... as always," he grumbled. "Destiny is like Magic, Draco. It makes us believe we are in control, but the truth is that we aren't; not really. Those who dare reign over Magic are ruthlessly punished. I'm afraid it's the same with Fate. You and Potter are meant to be together. You can't change that, no matter how much you want to."

Draco stared at him thoughtfully for a few moments before he spoke in a firm voice, "I wish I could have yours and the Headmaster's optimism, Severus, but if there's something I've learned in my short life it is that nothing ever goes as one hopes. Even if Potter and I somehow managed to overcome the past –I mean, the part we _still_ remember," he added dryly, "what do you think will be waiting for us? Why do you think we kept our affair a secret?"

He snorted, and added after a short pause, "What we had is gone forever. Vanished. Obliterated. And believe me, some things are better left alone. Perhaps it was Fate that decided we should have our memories modified. Perhaps it realised what an awful mistake had been done and it just merely corrected it. Some things are just not worth the trouble." _Or the pain_, he thought; a deep scowl engraved on his handsome features. The bitterness brought forward by yesterday's spell –by his own memories, to be more accurate- still latched at his stomach; a sour reminder of his true place where Potter was concerned.

The Potions Master stared at Draco with his inquisitive onyx eyes. He knew when to draw the line with his godson. He could tell there were a lot of things swirling in the younger wizard's mind; his eyes had turned that stormy grey, the colour of autumn rain clouds, which meant he didn't want to continue this line of conversation. Severus was torn between pushing the subject and giving in. With Draco, it was always like this: a relentless battle of wills. The blond was one of the most difficult people he had ever met in his life –and taking into consideration that he had been a close acquaintance of Tom Riddle's, that was saying a lot. Both Severus and Draco had complex personalities. Both of them always went to great extents to hide their true feelings and thoughts. Both were very skilled at pushing people's buttons. Both always wanted to have the last word. This was quite the explosive combination when it came to dealing with each other. In a way, dealing with Draco was like dealing with himself, which was a minus, not a plus, like most would believe.

He sighed and sat back in his chair. Maybe he should attempt a subtle approach. Glancing at the black journal lying atop of the pile of parchment on the desk, he remembered what he had wanted to say when he saw it on Draco's lap yesterday but had refrained due to the circumstances. He picked it up and browsed through it.

"Concealment Charm?" he asked distractedly after clearing his throat, purposely keeping his jet-black eyes on the blank pages.

Draco gave him an annoyed look that went unnoticed as he caught up with his godfather's tactic. The man didn't know when to give it up, did he? Relenting begrudgingly, he shifted so he could place his legs across one of the chair's arms. "More like a bloody magical barricade," he mumbled. "There must be like a dozen layers of spells on it, but the funny thing is that they all seem to be interconnected. I spent three hours trying to break them. What a waste of time," he added with a scowl.

"I saw you with it once," Severus said after a short while, hesitating. He ventured a glance up to Draco. "It was during the summer break before your Seventh Year. You were in the Drawing Room, writing in it." The blond merely stared back at him with unreadable mercury eyes.

"You don't remember?" the Potions Master asked, but it was more a statement.

"Amongst other things, apparently," Draco said tersely; that Malfoy mask back in place. Severus let out another tired sigh.

"Draco, sooner or later, you would have had to face this." He looked intently at his godson before continuing, "I don't want you to do something you'll regret later just because you're scared. That doesn't become you."

"I'm not scared! I know what I'm doing!" Draco said fiercely. "I appreciate your concern, Severus, but unfortunately for you this is _my_ bloody choice, _my_ bloody life, and it's up to me to figure out how to deal with things! Neither you, nor Dumbledore, nor Harry fucking Potter for that matter have any say in this!"

"That's where you're wrong! This _does_ concern Potter, whether you like it or not!" the Potions master said between clenched teeth, itching to do something with his clenched hands. He reckoned that knocking some sense into the blond sitting across from him would certainly be satisfying, but he settled for running them through his raven-black hair, giving himself some time to compose.

"You have no right to make this 'decision' on your own," he added in a softer tone after a short pause; his black gaze locked on his godson. "Wait untilPotter is informed of all this. Wait until you know what he wants. _Then_ you may decide what to do. You owe it to him; it's his bloody life, too."

This was ridiculous, Severus knew. Draco would not give in easily; not today, when everything was so fresh and the blond was still adjusting. But he had to try. It wasn't in Draco's nature to rush headlong into something like this. He'd plan, and ponder, and question, and reconsider everything all over again until he was satisfied he was making the right choice. He was the embodiment of everything that was Slytherin. He was _supposed_ to think of his own interests, of his own well being, and Severus didn't know how turning himself into a Muggle could fit into that equation. This... _desperation_ only belied how truly shaken his godson was, how afraid. Severus couldn't blame him, but he also couldn't let him make such an irresponsible mistake. Hell, Severus himself was scared; scared of not knowing exactly what was going through Draco's mind. He had only seen his godson this off-centred after Lucius' imprisonment, and it had not been pretty. Severus reminded himself, he had to come up with something, and soon.

"Not if I have something to do about it," the blond stated coldly, shaking his godfather from his musings. "I know how Potter will react to this. He'll make a scene and yell and cry why the Gods hate him so much to have cursed him with Draco Malfoy for a Soul Mate. I simply refuse to go through it."

Severus' lips curled in a grimace. So there was fear of rejection, as well... He refrained from commenting on that. There were some serious 'Draco issues' regarding rejection and Severus was in no disposition to get near that subject. One heated discussion with his godson was enough for one day.

"Do you, now?" he drawled, closing the damned journal and placing it carefully on the desk. Draco seemed to be about to utter one of his witty comebacks, but Dixie appeared out of the blue with a loud 'pop', holding an apparently heavy tray in her small hands. The Potions Master found he was glad for the interruption.

"Here it is, Master Draco, Master, Sirs," the elf said happily as she deposited two cups and two steaming jars on the desk. Next were two saucers with cream and honey and a basket with an assortment of biscuits and muffins.

Draco had already grabbed his cup and had started pouring copious amounts of coffee and cream into it –obviously relieved by the interruption as well- when Dixie suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Dixie nearly forgot, Master, Sir!" She started rummaging in her pink apron's front pocket. "A Ministry messenger came by and addressed this for Master Draco. He said it was a special delivery from the Wizengamot, Sir," she added as she gave a puzzled Draco a tightly-rolled piece of parchment with no less than four seals on it. With a final bow and a big, proud smile at Severus for her own efficiency, she disappeared once again.

Draco forwent his usual remarks on the house-elf's behaviour in favour of his own curiosity. He broke the seals with slightly shaky hands, unrolled the scroll, and skimmed its contents.

"I have to go to the Ministry this morning to get the deeds for my inheritance," he said in an uncharacteristically small voice at Severus' expectant frown. "I have to sign the release forms before the judges for Inheritance Affairs."

Draco sat back heavily on his chair. Even when he knew it would come –_eventually_-, he found himself unprepared for the relief invading his every cell. He couldn't believe it was finally over... So many years waiting for this day and, surprisingly, he didn't know what else to say.

"Certainly? I must say, I wasn't sure the Ministry would settle this matter so fast, but I suppose one must never underestimate the power of ridicule," Severus stated with a satisfied smirk on his pale face. "I don't have anything scheduled for today, so I can accompany you..."

"I would prefer it if I do this alone," Draco quickly interrupted, giving his godfather a somewhat sheepish smile. "Besides, I have to run other errands. I'm sure you'd be bored to death," he said distractedly as he poured sugar into his coffee, trying to hide his uneasiness.

Severus had to admit, he hadn't expected Draco's request. He had thought that he'd be with his godson when this day arrived and the young wizard was returned everything that was rightfully his. In a way, the Potions Master felt it was his victory, too; every single one of Draco's triumphs was as important to Severus as if they were his own. But Draco had so much to deal with at the moment that the Potions Master knew he couldn't impose his wishes on the blond.

He gave his godson a measuring look before a flat sneer sneaked subtly onto his face.

_Gods_, he was getting too old for this.

"Very well," he finally said, picking up his cup of tea. "You're on your own today. I'll take care of those damn owls," he added dryly, gesturing to the windows and swallowing the hurt Draco's tacit words had caused. The blond gave him a mischievous smirk, and suddenly the sting wasn't as painful anymore. Severus Snape knew right then Draco must be some sort of a weak spot for him... Although, he had suspected it for a while.

The younger wizard must have known exactly what he was thinking, for then he spoke, there was a delighted grin on his face as he brought his cup to his lips, "Gods! I love coffee!"

And Severus could only smile briefly over his own cup of bitter tea, knowing that, all-in-all, he was part of Draco's precious few, happy moments.

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A loud 'crack' broke the natural tranquillity of the lonely country road, followed by the agitated flapping of wings and trills of a few startled birds fleeing at the sound. Harry opened his eyes to a fresh autumn breeze blowing on his face, carrying with it the rich scents of dewy grass and ripe apples. The cicadas' song drifted from the surrounding yellowing trees; their intermittent '_shriek_-_shriek_' mingling with the hiss of the wind in a happy salute to the mid-morning sun. The sky up above was bright blue and cloudless, unparalleled in this time of year, and Harry gladly took the exceptional weather as a good omen.

The raven-haired Auror started up the dirt road, squinting feebly under the blazing sun. Squirrels and small lizards scurried unexpectedly across the road and up the nearest tree as they noticed his presence, sending the bushes and shrubs on the sides into a temporary fuss in their getaway. Harry's heart was beating anxiously, steering butterflies in his stomach as it raced to match the quickened pace of his footsteps; a glimmer of perspiration was starting to show on his brow and upper lip, but other than to question his choice for attire –tailored trousers and a long-sleeve shirt under a wizard's robe-, he forbid himself any thoughts of doubt or hesitation.

A man had to do what a man had to do, after all.

A few minutes later he was facing a small intersection, where another, much narrower and visibly less-travelled road joined the one he had been walking on. Harry sprinted purposely up the new path, which was flanked by ageless oaks and elm trees. The tall trunks and the broad branches made for a much-welcomed reprieve against the sun; the air here was cooler and smelled of lichen and moist soil. The path twisted and turned amongst clusters of trees as it led him through a grove, which grew thicker and darker with every step he took. Finally, when he was starting to wonder if he had messed up the directions somehow, he reached the edge of the small wood. A grassy hill rose before him, at the top of which stood a highly wrought iron fence. Letting out a deep breath of relief, he walked towards the great iron gates standing up ahead. Beyond the fence, a ridiculously big manor rose up to the sky, surrounded by colourful, exuberant gardens.

"What a show-off," Harry muttered as he walked through the gates, which had opened automatically the moment he stood before them.

The raven-haired Auror walked in awe through patches of roses, gardenias, petunias, and daffodils glimmering in the sunlight. Were he not here on 'business', he certainly would take his time to do some proper sightseeing of the grounds. Harry had to admit, the place was impressive. The meticulously-kept gardens appeared as some kind of oasis amongst the surrounding woods, with beautiful marble sculptures, fountains, and benches sitting between waltzing willows and flower beds. The manor itself seemed to have been taken out of a fairy tale; it was four stories high, and most of the facade was covered in ivy, with dozens of windows of all sizes imaginable peering out to the world. Beautifully ornate cornices and columns stood out from the green tapestry, betraying the manor's neoclassical influence. White smoke rose up from several of the countless chimneys, and Harry wondered vaguely how many house-elves were needed to maintain such a monstrosity of a 'house'.

"Alright. Here we are. No turning back now," he said to himself as he approached the front door. Taking a few deep breaths, he moved to stand before a heavy-looking, bronze door knocker. Harry hadn't yet attempted to grab it when the huge wooden door opened swiftly with a loud shriek, and it was all he could do not to jump out of his body.

"My, my. Look what we have here… Hello, Mr. Potter. What a lovely surprise," Severus Snape said in his most sardonic tone as he stood at the threshold, dry sneer in place and arms folded over his silk-clad chest.

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The Potions Master didn't like having his domestic peace so annoyingly disrupted this early in the morning, but he had to admit, watching Potter's horror-stricken face liquefy into that of a gaping fish in a matter of seconds was enough to make up for the irritation he felt at having the alleged hero at his doorstep –for the moment, at least; who knew what kind of irreparable damage could be inflicted upon one's sanity by simple overexposure to the horrid brat's presence. Besides, he had several hypotheses as to why Harry Potter was now standing within the confines of his property, and none of them had anything to do with himself, personally.

"Well, don't just stand there, Potter. I highly doubt you were mistakenly dropped by the Owl Post on my front door," he said as he made an irritated gesture for the Auror to come inside.

Potter snuck out of his state of shock just when it was starting to lose its appeal, to Severus' relief. The Auror cleared his throat before stating in a passably firm voice, "I'm here to see Malfoy, sir."

_Are you, now? _Severus thought with a mental roll of his eyes as he studied the black-haired youth still standing on his doorstep. "Of course," he scoffed, turning on his boot-heels and sweeping through the foyer into the sun-lit parlour without bothering to look back and check if Potter had followed. Sure enough, he heard the heavy '_thump_' of the door closing a few seconds before the telltale sound of Potter's footsteps sounded from somewhere behind him.

Sitting in one of the plush armchairs in the centre of the elegant room, the Potions Master looked up to see the former Gryffindor standing uncomfortably in the doorway.

"Well, sit down, Potter... Unless you have a perch complex, in which case, by all means, do as you like," Severus drawled as he crossed one leg over the other in one fluid motion. Harry narrowed his emerald eyes at the pale-faced wizard, but moved to take the offered seat in front of his host nonetheless.

"Is Malfoy...?"

"Are you here on Ministry orders, boy, or is it one of your independent assignments?" the Potions Master interrupted him with a sneer, watching with relish as Potter's face grew darker with each uttered word. Honestly, the brat made it so easy for him it was almost –_almost_- no fun.

The younger wizard took a visible deep breath. "I'm not here as an Auror, sir. I'm here on personal matters." Severus raised one eyebrow at the admission, regarding the younger wizard with critical onyx eyes.

"Indeed? Well, Mr. Potter, I'm sorry to say that Draco isn't here at the moment. He left not ten minutes ago, actually," he commented lightly as he watched the play of emotions going through the Saviour's face. "Ah, but where are my manners? Would you like a cup of tea?" He waved towards a loaded tray set on the side table placed near the two chairs.

Harry blinked a few times in obvious surprise before he stuttered, "Well, I... Er..."

"Oh, for Salazar's name, Potter," Severus muttered, annoyed. "We fought a war together; we know each other's worst memories. I can't believe you'd think I'd try to poison you _now_," he drawled, accentuating that last word with just a hint of sarcasm. "You've come all the way here from London. It would be quite the discourtesy if you didn't stay for at least five minutes."

Harry stared at his former professor for a few moments before finally relenting. "I guess I could stay for a short while," he said cautiously. Holding back the impulse to roll his eyes at the infuriating brat, Severus started to serve them both some tea, all the while conscious of the emerald eyes following his every move -which the Potions Master found quite amusing, to say the least. Cups in hand, the unlikely pair nursed their drinks amidst an eerie, tense silence; time Potter spent doing a reconnaissance of his surroundings.

"So tell me, Potter. What is this 'personal matter' you need to discuss with my godson? Is it somehow related to yesterday's spectacle?" Severus finally asked, watching with no small satisfaction how the Wizarding World's Biggest Brat choked on his tea.

"_What_? I... What do you..? I mean..."

_Here we go again with the stuttering_, Severus thought, and he idly wondered if it wasn't in actuality one of Gryffindor's more annoying 'traits'. He let out an obfuscated sigh for good measure.

"What I mean, Potter, is that I know why you're here," the Potions Master stated dryly. "In fact, I was wondering when you'd show up –what with our brief tête-à-tête yesterday- but to tell the truth, I didn't expect it to be so soon. Maybe you're not as stupid as I thought," he drawled before taking a sip of his tea. Harry merely resumed his owlish staring, apparently oblivious to the insult.

"You _know_? You know about...?"

"About the bond? Of course I do. And as a matter of fact, so does Draco."

"But... how did you..?" Harry trailed off; apparently, his brain hadn't yet processed the whole statement, and the Potions Master felt incredibly pleased with himself as he realised that this development had not crossed Potter's head as a possibility the moment he decided to show up –_unannounced_, at that- at his house. _It's always a plus to have the upper hand in a situation; even more so when said situation revolves around Harry Potter_, Severus thought with a smirk. It wasn't his fault. Old habits die hard, and he was an old fox.

"Do I really need to answer that question?" The younger man glared at him. "Fine, Potter. Let's just say that what I witnessed yesterday in that bathroom was enlightening in more ways than one," he drawled, feeling a bit ill when he saw the slight blush colouring the Auror's cheeks.

"At first, I thought… I was losing it," Potter said, green eyes locked on his tea cup. "When I saw Draco yesterday I felt... It has no comparison to anything I've ever felt before." He frowned, as if trying to arrange his thoughts, and Severus refrained from commenting on the name-slip. "But it wasn't until later, when I was able to sense the bond, that I made the connection." He looked up at the Potions Master, eyes shining with something the older man couldn't quite pinpoint. "I've given it some thought, and all I could come up with is that this has something to do with what happened in the past… with Draco, I mean. That's why I came here this morning; I was hoping that Draco would... that we could figure this out together. There's a lot at stake," he added as an afterthought.

Severus remained quiet for a while. He had to give it to the hideous boy; if anything, he appeared to have worked some things out on his own. It was… well, _impressive_, in an annoying sort of way. He wouldn't have thought that Harry Potter could have such prowess for deduction. With a pensive frown on his face, the Potions Master put his cup down, sat up, and looked intently into Potter's bright, emerald eyes.

"I want you to know that I don't consider it wise to meddle in this current predicament you two have landed yourselves into, but after learning of Draco's views on this matter, I don't have another choice but to tell you everything we know so far, for I don't want to imagine what the consequences would be if you were to be told too late... or not at all. Hopefully, you'll take this information with the same legendary honour you seem to take everything else," he added cynically, but felt pleased with his choice of words when he noticed a flicker of apprehension crossing the younger wizard's face.

"How bad is it?" Potter asked flatly, taking Severus a bit by surprise. He had expected more dramatics from the Gryffindor.

"Bad enough to make my godson consider the possibility of becoming a Squib," he stated wryly. The Auror's eyes widened, and again, a spark of some indefinable emotion flashed in their depths. Severus wasn't sure if what he had seen had been astonishment, anger, hurt, or a mix of them all.

"He's considering breaking the bond, then," the younger man said after a short pause, depositing his cup on the side table. "Very well, I guess I shouldn't worry, if he's planning on taking care of this 'predicament' himself. That's good to know. Thank you for your time, Mr. Snape. I'll see myself out," he added as he stood up from his chair without more protocol. The Potions Master felt the first sparks of anger in his stomach.

"As unbelievably inconvenient as this may be for your future plans, Potter, let me remind you that this is _not_ just Draco's problem," he said contemptuously to the Gryffindor's back. "I'm sure you know your share about Magical Bonds, being an Auror and all. This is not a simple curse we're talking about, just as much as it didn't start yesterday."

Harry Potter stopped abruptly, turning to face him in a swirl of black robes.

"What the hell do you want me to do?" he asked, hands clenched at his sides, his green eyes narrowed into mere slits. "I came here expecting to figure out what is going on and you just told me everything I needed to know. If Draco's already made up his mind about it, then so be it! The Gods know that will only make my life easier."

"Well, of course," Severus hissed as he too stood up and walked towards the hero, pale face set in a snarl. "I'm sure it will solve all your petty problems to have your Other Part's life completely destroyed. I'm sorry Potter, but I won't allow that."

Harry blanched, taking a step backwards. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Tell me, Potter. Have you been having any sordid dreams lately? Dreams you haven't told the charming Miss Weasley about?" Severus asked maliciously, ignoring the younger wizard's bewildered expression.

"How... how do you know...?"

He took another step towards Potter, a wicked smile on his face, knowing he had just hit the nail on the head. "What exactly was it you felt when you first saw my godson after such a long time? Did you have visions, too, or were you too distracted by wanting to take him right then on the bathroom floor to care?" Another step and they were both face to face now. Potter was cornered against the peach-coloured wall, and Severus leaned to tower imposingly over him. "Oh, no... Better answer me this: Were you able to take your lovely fiancé to bed last night without picturing Draco's face inside your head?"

Too caught up in Avenging Mode, Severus noticed just a little too late that Potter had taken his wand out and had it pointing at his temple in a flash. Before he could react, he heard Potter's hissed words, "Oh, I think you already know more than you should...

"_Legilimens_!" Harry yelled, and the next thing Severus knew, he was being pushed backwards with the force of the spell. Potter launched into his mind with the power of an avalanche, sweeping away all his barriers as if they were a handful of wizard cards. He just had time to wonder vaguely how in Hades' name Potter had managed to do that before memories of the day before started flashing in front of his eyes and he felt the Auror's demanding presence right behind him, pushing him for more, and more, and more. He couldn't control it; he couldn't stop the ruthless invasion. Severus' mind had turned into a block of the thinnest ice, and Potter was holding the chisel in his hands.

An eternity later –or what at any rate felt like it- the Potions Master opened his jet-black eyes to find himself panting in a heap of limbs on the floor; his head pounding with the worst headache he had felt since the last time he experienced the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of His Infernal Majesty himself. Next to him, Potter was kneeling on the white marble next to his wand; face flushed and eyes as big as saucers, and apparently not just a little out of breath as well.

"Oh, _Gods_..." Severus heard him say in a whisper. 'Oh, Gods', indeed. _Imbecile_, he thought furiously, but to tell the truth, he didn't really know who it was he was insulting.

"Was that absolutely _necessary_?" he spat, although it didn't have the intended effect as he was still reeling from the experience.

"I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't know what else..." Potter trailed off as he stood up on unsteady legs, picked up his wand, and moved to help his former professor, who pushed him away angrily.

"Never, and I mean, _never_ do that again or I won't be held responsible for my actions. Is that clear?" Severus snarled furiously as he brushed wet locks of black hair from his brow and stood up as well. Harry Potter was standing against the wall a few feet away from him, panting heavily and shivering. It was then that the Potions Master noticed the tear tracks running from the wide, green eyes across the unnaturally-pale face. For some reason he didn't care to contemplate, the unexpected sight ruled his anger into a sudden, anticlimactic halt, completely annihilating the litany of insults that a mere second ago was about to erupt from his mouth.

Both wizards just stood there, staring at each other and unable to utter a single word for what seemed to be quite a long time, until the young Auror let out an odd sound that was something between a whine and a moan and collapsed onto the floor, shaking visibly. The Potions Master watched with disbelieving eyes how the proclaimed hero grabbed his head with both hands and started banging it against the wall, all the while muttering nonsense. It didn't take Severus long to decide that that was something he did _not_ want to witness, let alone in his own home.

"Oh, what the..." he scoffed, inwardly unnerved by Potter's reaction. "Stand up, Potter! I would have thought that if you were able to cast such a powerful spell then you'd be strong enough to take the things you'd seen like a man," he scolded as he grabbed the younger wizard by the forearms and pushed him roughly to his feet. Fortunately, Potter's embarrassment and his deep-seated dislike for the former professor seemed to shake him out of his moment of weakness, for he yanked himself free from Severus' hold, wiping his face angrily as he raised himself to his full height, now shaking with fury.

"I demand an explanation," he half-said, half-hissed. The Potions Master let out an incredulous snort that resounded, mocking, against the impassive walls of the parlour.

"You just went through my memories, Potter. You saw everything there was to see. I don't think it can get any clearer than that," he stated in a deceivingly calm voice as he pulled at his shirt collar and cuffs; his pitch-black eyes fixed on the raving Auror.

"The fuck I will!" Harry said between gritted teeth, pointing his wand at the Potions Master's chest. Severus could swear he heard the younger wizard's jaw clenching. "Tell me everything! _Now_!"

"You moronic boy," he snarled, sensing the anger swelling inside of him as he glared fixedly at Potter, completely unmoved by the wand-tip directed at him. "What part of it all did you not understand? You and Draco were together in secret during your sixth year. A bond was formed between you. Apparently, somebody found out about your no doubt exhilarating affair; somebody who wasn't pleased about it. They cast a Dark Spell to make you forget your romantic history, but the bond resisted it and now that you've seen each other again you're experiencing its pull. That's what yesterday was all about. Is that enough or do you need me to draw a scheme for you? Or better yet, would you like to speak to Albus so he can confirm everything I've just said? There's a fireplace in the hall. I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear from you."

"Forget it," Potter hissed, shaking his head as if to substantiate what he had just said. He lowered his wand, but his posture remained guarded, antagonistic. "There has to be some sort of mistake. This can't be true. It's impossible. This isn't happening."

Severus' eyes were trained on Potter; the black orbs shining with barely-repressed ire. The Potions Master knew he had to be reasonable, that this was a lot to digest for the young wizard, but he just couldn't gather the will to do it. Potter was supposed to be a tough man. If he could face the Dark Lord, he could handle this. Besides, Severus was counting on him to solve this mess. It was Potter who had the keys for his godson's happiness; nothing Severus could do or say would give Draco the reassurance he so desperately wanted and needed. It was Potter who could dissuade Draco of his stupid plans. It was him who could ultimately save them both. Why couldn't the idiotic brat see that?

"Believe it or not, Potter, it _is_ happening," the Potions Master said lowly, trying with all his might to reign in his anger. "You need to stop this pathetic, Muggle movie-extracted performance and focus on what matters. You said so yourself. There is a lot at stake here; yours and Draco's futures, to be precise!"

"I don't give a _fuck_ about Malfoy! He can drop dead for all I care!" the Auror suddenly yelled, hysterical; his green eyes glowing with resentment and unshed tears. "This is not what I fucking bargained for! I refuse to believe this rubbish! You and Draco Malfoy can go to Hell!"

Those words went down Severus' throat like a swig of the vilest draught. That was all he needed to see, to hear. He had almost believed that everything could be resolved; that perhaps there would be a happy ending after all, no matter the current chaos. Yes, he had definitely turned into an overoptimistic, senile Hufflepuff. Damn Dumbledore and his words of hope. Damn Potter for what he had been, for what he was, and for what he would always be: an inconsiderate, egotistical, arrogant prick. And damn himself for being such a fool. His godson was right

What a bloody waste of time.

Seething, he moved to stand right before Potter in all his looming glory. "Is that so? Because I suppose this is exactly what my godson wanted? A Soul Mate for whom he has been waiting for so long and who in all honesty doesn't give a bloody damn about him? For whom he'll have to give up the only thing he has left to feel proud of, his _magic_?"

Harry Potter merely kept glaring at him defiantly. Severus' face turned into a mask of pure hatred.

"Get over yourself, Potter. You don't deserve to be bonded to Draco," he spat viciously before giving the young Auror a disgusted once-over, turning around, and moving smoothly towards the doorway. "You know the way out," he threw over his shoulder as he exited the room with firm, ominous steps.

Outside, it had started to pour.

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TBC…


	9. The Other Face of the Mirror, Part II

**Author:** Etherea.

**Rating:** **T – PG-13** (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, I seriously doubt their adventures would be published as Children Literature.

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**Ethereal Desire**

**Chapter Seven**

The Other Side of the Mirror

(Part II)

Harry watched Severus Snape's retreating back, rooted to the spot and unable to breathe properly all of the sudden. The room hadn't stopped spinning since he had cast that blasted spell; the ground felt as if it had been shaken from under his feet, and he seriously didn't know how somebody could feel so disoriented and motion-sickened standing so very still, so awfully petrified. In fact, Harry didn't know how in Hades' name he was standing at all.

Flashes of what he had seen in Snape's mind raced without any order or sense inside his head, a hideous battle between madness and reality, between the feasible and the absurd: Snape's conversation with Draco before the infamous hearing, the one they'd held in the bathroom after Harry had left, Draco's breakdown in Dumbledore's office, the old wizard's explanation, the casting of the mapping spell, Narcissa's letter, Draco's admissions that morning… It had been so much to take in that Harry had had to pull away from the memories, horrified and unwilling to know more. For a few moments there he'd thought he was definitely going to lose it completely; there's just so much a man can handle no matter how powerful and strong he may be; and Harry was sure he had reached his limit…

Until Anger had flared. Anger, the most simple and manageable of emotions; the most potent anaesthetic. Harry knew by experience, anger was the only thing that could keep a person sane sometimes. It didn't matter if what you said or did in anger wasn't the real you, or if you would –most probably- regret it all afterwards; the important thing is that anger gives you strength, even when your whole being is screaming in agony. He had let his anger burn freely through him, had virtually _summoned_ it, let it speak up for him. He had believed those words his anger had spoken with every fibre of his being; had felt them spewing upwards from deep inside, fuelled by his panic and disbelief. It had felt incredibly good to say those words. It had been the supreme act of defiance: defiance against Life and Fate and the fucking Powers that seemed resolute to destroy him. Harry would not let them accomplish that; he would speak his mind, he would shout to the world that they could go fuck themselves backwards… He didn't give a damn. And his anger would be right there beside him, pouring fire into his veins and cruel words out of his mouth, and he'd be perfectly fine because, as long as he was angry, he didn't have to think. He didn't have to feel anything else, for that matter.

At least, he had believed he was fine. That is, until Snape spoke those final words, imbibed with a loathing Harry had never felt before from the man, not even after years of enduring what he had believed were the most hideous comments and taunts ever uttered by that venomous mouth. Harry didn't understand it, but that last sentence had gone directly to his core, each syllable as poignant as a blazing knife being driven through his heart. It had hurt so much that he had forgotten how to breathe, how to move. It hurt so fucking _much_ that all his anger deserted him in an exhalation, as if it had never existed at all, and now he could only stay frozen, his throat impossibly tight as he fought with all his might the tears that kept threatening to fall; as he fought as hard as he could to get back his self-control, even when his world seemed to have stopped being his own and he was utterly paralyzed and scared and… lost.

Of all the things that could have ever crossed his mind, of everything he could have ever _imagined_ he'd find out by coming here...

Harry had had to deal with so many shocking revelations throughout his life that he had reached a point when he actually believed he was somehow immune to them. In retrospect, his whole existence seemed to be a series of unbelievably surreal events; if he hadn't gotten used to that fact, he knew he would have never been able to survive this long. How many times his whole world had been shattered by one single, little truth? How many times had he had to pick up the pieces one by one, glue them all back together as best he could, and circumvent the pain and disappointment so he could regain some modicum of balance, no matter how small, just to have this new equilibrium ripped again from him, later on? It was some sort of vicious cycle, his life, but he had wanted to believe that it was finally over; that all the madness had finally stopped, for good. Harry supposed he should feel like a complete moron, knowing how mistaken, how _naive_ he had been. Surprisingly –or perhaps, not entirely so- his own naivety was the last thing he could care about right now.

This was supposed to be simple, solvable. In fact, Harry had actually thought he had the answer to this mess. Now, he couldn't believe how derisorily foolish he had been. A Life Debt Harry wasn't sure if he should explode in maniacal laughter at the idea; although, he didn't think the whole sentiment would be completely unjustifiable. Never mind the stereotype, but that had been the ultimate Gryffindor action, jumping into conclusions like that. One would think he would have learned his lesson by now. Yet, after everything he had seen in Severus Snape's mind, Harry could tell that getting to the conclusion that this bond and all the inexplicable feelings he was experiencing towards Malfoy was somehow related to the haughty Slytherin saving his life the day of the Last Battle was not such an erroneous approach, just one huge understatement.

Still, how is one supposed to react to such a momentous discovery?

Perhaps it was the best if he didn't react at all, if he just pretended it was all a dream. A hideous nightmare. A farce. Some kind of practical joke… _Anything_, just to regain his footing again. It didn't matter if he had seen it all. It didn't matter if he had known all along, deep down, that it wasn't as simple as he wanted to believe, because right now his mind –his overly-neglected common sense- kept shouting at him to turn around, to run back the way he came, to forget it all, at the same time as something… _deeper_ kept telling him that a joke could never feel this true, that he couldn't deny his own instincts, that he knew what it was he should do. Merlin's _teeth_, but it felt as if he were being torn in two, pulled in opposite directions while at the same time being forced to compromise, to make a choice within a context that defied his comprehension. Harry had had to make difficult choices countless times before, but this time it wasn't the destiny of the whole world being dropped on his shoulders. This time, it was… his own sense of self, his own peace of mind. His whole goddamned life.

And Draco's, too.

No wonder why, so far, he hadn't been able to move at all…

'_POP_!'

Harry registered the familiar sound of Apparition, followed by the muffled noises of somebody moving about, and it was then that his alertness kicked in, compelling his body to cooperate; reminding him that life still carried on around him, and that he had never allowed himself to sink into helplessness, no matter how desperate or overwhelming the circumstances might have been. 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger' was the Great Maxim in Harry Potter's life, and Harry, if nothing else, was a true survivor.

He quickly readjusted his robe collar and pushed his glasses over his nose before heaving one deep, cleansing breath. How long had he been staring dumbly at the doorway? _That's not 'Boy Wonder' behaviour_, he thought bitterly. Praying he would not face the Master of the house –and pasting on his face the most natural expression he could muster just in case- he turned around to the source of the sound to see a house-elf clothed in pink, busying herself clearing the forgotten tray and tea things.

A most appreciated small mercy.

Harry cleared his throat, privately berating himself for feeling so bloody self-conscious. "Hullo," he said in an affable tone, trying to appear as relaxed as his current state would allow. The elf jumped a little, startled, before she turned swiftly in his direction and bowed low until her long nose touched the floor.

"Oh, pardon Dixie, Sir! Dixie didn't know any guests were still here, Sir! Is Sir wanting anything?" Her high-pitched voice floated from under her curtsy, and Harry found the sight the house-elf made somewhat amusing: how she managed to keep her nose attached to the floor, balance a heavy tray in her tiny hands and speak in the process. _It must be Elf Magic_, he concluded.

"No, it's ok." Harry's smile was a bit strained, but it went unnoticed as the elf hadn't looked up yet. "I'm actually on my way out. Thanks, though." Thinking he'd better leave the elf to her duties, he was just turning around when she arched back. The moment her eyes settled on Harry, the tray slipped from her hands, falling onto the floor with a loud clatter.

"Tory the Tireless, Sir is _him_!" she screeched, her blue eyes widening impossibly. Harry, who hadn't expected such an effusive reaction, didn't know if he should feel flattered or annoyed by it, not to mention that he wasn't in the mood to deal with unsolicited fawning.

Despite himself, he fidgeted under the elf's unwavering, wide-eyed stare. "Er… yes, I guess. I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you," he said with a little wave, trying his best to be polite. The little creature merely gaped at him some more.

"Sir is also Harry _Potter_, the wizard hero?" she exclaimed in an awed, nearly breathless voice. Harry was starting to consider a quick escape –never mind the pouring rain outside- when her words made him recapitulate.

"What do you mean, I'm _also_ Harry Potter? Who else would I be?" he asked, his brow knitted in confusion.

The moment he said that, he had the strange feeling that perhaps he shouldn't have: The elf blinked a few times, wringing her thin hands in her funny pink uniform, before she asked in a small voice, "Then… Sir is not here to see Master Draco?"

Harry felt all the air escaping his lungs. _What did she just say?_

He took a few steps towards the little elf and bent on one knee to be on her level, minding the broken glass on the floor. "Dixie-- That's your name, right?" She nodded, her lips quivering. "Dixie, what do you mean? Why would I want to see Draco?" Harry asked softly, heart beating a little faster than it was probably necessary.

"Because... because Master Draco needs you, Sir!" she said quickly, almost vehemently. "Dixie knows it's you! Dixie has seen you, Sir! One night, in Master Draco's rooms! Dixie didn't want to snoop! Dixie thought Master Draco was in pain!"

Harry didn't know what was more upsetting: the tears now pooling in the house-elf's wide, blue eyes or the way his heart had leapt at her words. He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the goosebumps spreading underneath his clothes. "I've never been in Draco's rooms, Dixie. In fact, this is the first time I've been here," he reasoned.

"Sir is thinking Dixie is saying lies! Dixie says no lies!" she shrieked, shaking her head fiercely. Harry opened his mouth to say that that wasn't what he had meant, but she beat him to it. "House-elves' eyes can see much more than wizards' eyes, Sir! Dixie is seeing with her own eyes what Master Draco cannot, and what Dixie's seeing is you, Harry Potter! Dixie speaks the truth! No lies! Dixie says no lies!"

"I believe you!" Harry hastened to say when the elf started pulling hard at her long ears. "Please, don't hurt yourself. It's just that I… This is…" He sighed helplessly, fighting the urge to pull at his own hair. "You said you saw me in Draco's room. What did you see? What was I doing?"

Dixie's cheeks flushed hot pink beneath her tears, and she sniffed loudly before she answered, "You was making Master Draco happy, Sir! Master Draco is never happy, only when he's with you. Master is mean and cold to most people, but Dixie knows it's because he aches. Inside, Sir. For _you_!

"He cries, Sir. He cries at night," she continued in a whisper. "Dixie knows it's because he can't see you, because Master thinks you is not real. But Dixie cans! Dixie knows you is real, Dixie saw your magical body! That's why Dixie thought... Dixie thought that you was here for... Oh, poor Master Draco!" she cried then, covering her face with her hands. "Young Master is so alone! Dixie feels so sad for him! Oh, poor Master! Poor Master Draco!"

Harry could only stare at the house-elf, at a loss for what to say or do. It wasn't just the fact that he didn't know how to deal with a crying female –least to say one of a different species-; there was also the bitter pang of guilt pressing on his chest, guilt for his earlier, horrible words, mixed with that something else he couldn't quite name but which he could only describe as a deep, aching emptiness. Torn and confused without measure, he took out a handkerchief from his robe pocket and held it out. She accepted it with another sniff and immediately blew on her long nose.

"Dixie, do you know where Draco went today?" Harry asked when he saw that the house-elf had calmed down somewhat; not knowing that he had wanted to ask that question until it had stumbled out of his mouth or perhaps just being able to hold it back until then. She looked up at him with her huge eyes shining with hope. "Master Draco is at the Ministry of Magic, Sir," she hiccupped. "Is Sir going to look for Young Master?"

Harry knew then that he was in the proverbial tight spot. Right there, in that fancy parlour, with just a weeping house-elf as his witness, he felt helpless and exposed like he had never felt in his life. It was as if the whole world had stopped and zeroed in on him, waiting for his response. He decided he didn't like that feeling.

He turned to look out the parlour's windows, waging an internal battle with himself. Beyond the glass panels, the wonderful sight that was the gardens had turned into a grey stain, blotched and intermittent in the pouring rain. Harry couldn't believe how such a beautiful day had become so depressing so quickly. The crude analogy wasn't lost on him; actually, he thought it was most appropriate.

"It's raining an awful lot, Sir." He heard her murmur after a short while. "Dixie can drop the House Wards so Sir cans Apparate from here. No soaking! If Sir is wanting Dixie to, that is."

Harry's eyes caught Dixie's knowing gaze, and the helplessness only intensified. "I…"

She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, which was just in her reach in his crouched position, and gave him a watery smile. "You is here for a reason, Sir. Dixie knows Sir is a very powerful, very wise wizard, but Sir needs help. Dixie can help. Will Sir let Dixie help?"

Was her mysterious Elf Magic playing tricks on him, or was it some sort of epiphany he'd just had, Harry would never know. All he knew was that in that exact moment, as he looked into the pleading, puffy eyes of Dixie the house-elf, all his doubts, his confusion and desperation, were gone. All of the sudden, he knew what he had to do.

"I'd appreciate that very much," he said; a soft smile on his lips.

Dixie's face lit up like the sun. "Thank you, Sir!" She cleared up the mess of broken china and tea with a snap of her fingers, and moved on to do a complicated wave of her hands until Harry felt the wards surrounding the parlour fade away. Grinning brightly, she said in a high-pitched, ecstatic voice, "Harry Potter cans Apparate now! Good luck finding Master Draco, Harry Potter, Sir!"

Harry nodded his thanks to the little elf, feeling as if some impossible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps coming here had been the right thing to do, after all.

_Well, Draco. We're both in this together. Let's just hope we both know what we're doing_, the raven-haired wizard thought as he closed his eyes and Disapparated.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Draco was sure he had sworn sometime yesterday that that would be the last time he stepped foot on this place, but he had to admit, this new excursion to the Ministry of Magic was proving to be quite satisfactory. Not only had he walked out of that small conference room where he had had the meeting with the judges for Inheritance Affairs exponentially richer; it felt incredibly good to have people's recognition back, to have other wizards and witches look at him with something other than fear or disgust, and it felt even better knowing that it was all on his own merits. Granted, not everybody gave him the same loving treatment; he wasn't as naïve as to think that a lifetime of hatred and prejudice could be erased with one favourable verdict; but it was a start, and Draco was resolute on restoring the Malfoy name to its former glory. His mother would be proud.

The meeting had taken longer than he had expected; there had been a bunch of formalities to see to, like the analysis of his blood to confirm he was indeed a Malfoy –which Draco had found utterly redundant and insulting- and the inventory of every single one of the Malfoy properties going into the Inheritance. This particular task wouldn't have taken so long if it weren't for the fact that the old wizard in charge had been, well, _old_, and kept going over the same line over and over again and one had to remind him that it was the fifth time already he had listed '_Rosé Croix Chateau, 13500 square yards, Santois, France_'. Other than that, it had been a very good meeting; very private, with just him, three Judges, and a scribe in attendance. Draco guessed the Ministry hadn't wanted to take any chances this time, and to tell the truth, he couldn't have agreed more. He was starting to find his newfound celebrity status quite annoying; what with the constant flood of owls and the press following everywhere and the scary looks this obnoxious witch was sending him at the moment… He knew he was a dashing wizard –and these green robes looked extremely well on him- but, _Is the term 'subtlety' completely lost on you? Didn't your parents teach you any good manners? Bloody Hell, woman!_

But all those small nuisances were completely inconsequent on the overall scheme of things. Right now, as he stood on the small confines of the magical elevator, the Weird Sisters' newest hit playing on the background, Draco focused on setting his mind for his next task. The idea had sprung as somewhat of a last resource during last night's virtually futile research, but it turned into Plan 'A' after reading the letter from the Ministry, and although he hadn't quite figured out how -_exactly-_ he was going to handle the whole situation, he knew it was at least worth a try. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained –or so people say.

The cheerful 'ding' resounded around him, the doors opened and he stepped out, not before sending a particularly vicious glare at the young witch, who for a second there looked as if she were about to follow him.

SECOND FLOOR

MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT DEPARTMENT

Wizengamot Tribunals -->

-- Prisons and Correctional Programs Division

-- Aurors Headquarters

The blond wizard glanced at the sign on the wall and felt a slight shiver run down his spine. So carrying on with his improvised plan might present more than just a few inconveniences... big deal. He would not bother himself with the most inconsequential details, such as running into that nitwit, Ron Weasley, or that brute, Finnegan, or… well, _whoever_.

_Harry Potter, perhaps?_ a voice quipped inside his head. Draco was appalled to realise that this time it sounded a lot like Albus Dumbledore's.Of all the voices in the world, did his conscience have to pick _that_ one?

_Leave me alone. I know what I'm doing._

_Ah, but isn't the fact that we're having this conversation contradicting that?_

_Of course not! And I'm _not _having this conversation. _You _are. So go away._

_I can't. I'm your conscience. _

_No, you're the pain in my arse!_

_I don't think your mother would approve…_

_Leave my mother out of it!_

_But she didn't want to stay out of it, did she? That's why she did what she did. You, in the other hand…_

_I'm not running away, if that's what you're implying!_

_I'm not implying anything. I'm merely stating the obvious; you're filling in the blanks._

_You think you're so smart, don't you?_

_I don't know. Are you smart?_

_Stop pestering me! _

_Oh, but that's my job._

_Well, I didn't hire you, so sod off!_

_It's quite amusing how you forget your elite vocabulary when you're angry…_

_And you'll find out the extent of my amnesia if you don't shut up!_

_I'm willing to compromise. _

_What the Hell are you talking about?_

_Compromise; give and take. You know what that means. In theory, at any rate._

_Listen you! If you're talking about…_

_Ah… but isn't it the heart of the matter?_

Draco caught himself just in time before he said something very unflattering out loud. That was all he needed, really: going irremediably mad on top of everything else. Squaring his shoulders and pasting on the infamous Malfoy mask –which appeared much more like a scowl at the moment- he turned left and started with smooth steps down the long hallway.

Soon enough, he reached a glass double-door from which he could see a large waiting room. There were several witches and wizards in uniform going to and fro, as well as many visitors sitting on the yellow sofas set by the walls. Draco took a deep breath, opened the door, and moved towards a round front desk placed in the middle of the room, ignoring the gaping stares and the pointing 'Look!'s and the breathed 'Sweet Merlin, it's him!'s.

Well… Maybe he wasn't too annoyed by that.

"Good morning," he said to the brunette witch sitting behind the desk, who was currently busy spelling her fingernails in different –all simply _awful_, he'd have to add- colours. "I'm here to request a special permit to visit a convict in Azkaban Prison."

"Petitions Office. Down that corridor, door number six," she answered mechanically as she pointed behind her with a lazy wave of her hand, not even raising her eyes from her task. Draco resisted the urge to scowl at her, and instead muttered a prim 'Thank you' and moved in the direction she had indicated.

This hallway was much narrower and was flanked on each side by common office doors, from which he could see Ministry Officers behind small desks or amongst cubicles. The first sparks of irritation let themselves known, though, when he found that the first door in the corridor featured a black '40' painted on the middle of the upper glass panel; he didn't need to see the number on the next door to know that he'd have to walk across the whole bloody building to reach his destination.

Resigning himself and trying _very_ hard not to let his optimism drop as he recognized the telltale beat of a headache, Draco started down the long hallway, counting each door mentally as he went. Every so often a door would open and out would come one or more officers in their ridiculous robes, talking amongst themselves or looking at the files in their hands, and every time Draco had to resist the urge to lower his head to hide behind his hair –_Right, much help that would be...-_ or turn around and walk in the opposite direction, to the point when he was starting to feel quite annoyed with _himself_, which was completely unacceptable.

Finally, he reached the glorious Door Number Six, pointedly ignoring the relieved breath he let out at the sight of it. He knocked a few times, and just when he was starting to feel truly impatient –and yes, somewhat cantankerous- the door swung open and in front of him appeared… a huge pile of folders. _With legs_, he remarked dryly just before the pile started talking.

"Good morning! I apologize for making you wait! I was in the back looking for some documents and I didn't hear the knocking until I… _Malfoy_?"

_Doesn't this day keep getting better and better? _Draco thought with just a hint of sarcasm as he pierced the lopsided, gaping face of –Y_es, it's him. You're not hallucinating_- Neville Longbottom with a stony look. His lips turned into an equally warm smile.

"Longbottom," he acknowledged with a curt nod. "How… unexpected. May I come in?" he said lightly as he pushed the door open further and walked past the aforementioned wizard (which wasn't mere rudeness on his part: he just wasn't up to waiting until Longbottom reacquainted himself with his vocal chords) into the office.

_If _he could call this dump an office. There were stacks of papers and boxes sitting on every available surface and no less than a dozen paper airplanes flying overhead; most probably memos waiting to be read. The air smelled of stale coffee, and Draco didn't think he could see the desk under all that rubbish. The decor would suit his occupant perfectly, he reflected cynically, if it weren't for the conspicuous lack of plant life. Although, he wouldn't be too surprised if there was a Mandrake growing happily in the wastepaper basket.

Longbottom seemed to recover from his shock soon enough: he hastily searched for a place to unload his cargo on –which after a second's hesitation ended up being on top of another tottery pile placed by the door- and scurried towards his desk. He cleared it up a bit, to Draco's great relief, before he offered the blond a chair, which was revealed when he levitated a mountain of rolled parchments to a small cabinet in the corner.

"So, Malfoy. This is certainly a surprise. What can I do for you today?" he said once they were both seated, giving Draco a wary look that belied the jovial tone of his voice.

Not that Draco would have expected differently. It had been a surprise to find Neville Longbottom of all people standing behind that door, but Draco was determined to be succesful in his endeavour. This called for the utmost diplomacy, and the Slytherin was very good at improvisation. It was part of the Malfoy assets.

"Yes, it is," Draco replied with a very genuine smile. "I was referred here by the charming young woman at the front desk. She indicated this was the place to request a permit to visit Azkaban Prison, but I must admit, it never crossed my mind I'd find _you_ of all people, Neville. Never pinned you as the bureaucrat type," he added with a raised eyebrow.

His strategy appeared to have worked, if the sudden, blank look on Longbottom's face was anything to go by. _So predictable these Gryffindors, really_. _Always clinging to their pathetic preconceptions…_

_Does that mean you're a bit of a Gryffindor yourself?_ That treacherous voice let itself known once again. Draco just told it to _shut the Hell up._

"Er… Well, my grandmother passed away two years ago, and between her debts and the hospital bills, I didn't have any other choice but to find a job to pay for my studies," Longbottom said, still looking puzzled. "Why do you ask? It's not as if we were friends back in school," he remarked guilelessly.

Draco was tempted to reply that, actually, he hadn't asked. Instead, he regarded the hazel-eyed man with a reassuring (patronizing) curl of his lips. "It's been three years, Neville. Of course I'm a bit curious about what happened to my classmates. And it's good to find out that they're doing well… all things considered," he muttered as he glanced discreetly around.

Longbottom blinked a few times, but then loosened up in his seat, giving Draco a small, tentative smile of his own. "Yes, I really can't complain. The pay is good and I get to have my own office. It's been rather busy lately, what with all the Death Eaters trials and stuff," he gestured around, a blush patent on his cheeks, "but nothing I can't manage. I'm even waiting for a promotion," he added proudly.

"No kidding? Those are excellent news, Neville." _Amazing, really. _"I'm sure your bosses are quite pleased indeed. Now, about my reason for being here..."

But the other wizard didn't seem to hear him beyond the word 'pleased'. Longbottom simply went on, beaming, "Oh, they are! I'm first in line, I think, and I've just been here for fifteen months. That's quite fast, or so they tell me. I'd never considered a career in the Ministry, so I wouldn't know exactly, but so far…"

Draco had not other choice but to listen, nodding at appropriate intervals and inwardly dumbstruck –if not a bit alarmed - by the vision before him. Not only had Longbottom grown quite… manly since the last time Draco had seen him, but he had apparently got over all his insecurities. The blond was having serious trouble reconciling the overly-shy, clumsy, forgetful boy he had had the absolute displeasure to meet ten years ago with this tall, broad-shouldered, _bubbly_ young man in front of him. It certainly brought a whole new dimension to the 'late bloomer' definition. Of course, he could tell that Longbottom still retained some of that candour of his youth; the recurrent colour on his cheeks and the light-hearted way in which he was treating Draco at the moment were proof of that; but his movements were no longer awkward and unsure and his bright, hazel eyes never wavered from Draco's; his auburn hair was acceptably styled and the awful Ministry robes looked rather good on his strong frame. In fact, he had become someone Draco could very easily find… well, _attractive_.

It was horrifying!

Not to mention that all of Longbottom's wariness had apparently vanished.

"…from yesterday. It must have been really frightening! I mean, what with Luton being so set out to get you. I know I couldn't have handled it! Thank Merlin Dumbledore showed up in time! Why didn't you tell us you were working for our side? You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble, Malfoy."

"Please, call me Draco." _He's not really staring at my lips, is he? _"And yes, I guess it would have saved me some difficulties, but you know me. Always going for a bit of drama," he said with a teasing drawl meant to cover his sudden unease.

"Yes, yes... You were always something of a drama queen, weren't you, _Draco_?" Longbottom said; his lips quirked in an odd sort of way and his hazel eyes fixed on the Slytherin's.

Draco's sneer froze on its place; in fact, he could actually feel his facial muscles congealing into what he was sure had to be a mask of utter horror. _Is he bloody flirting with me? Oh Gods, he bloody is_, he thought, astonished, as he caught Longbottom's eyes darting to his mouth practically out of their own volition. For a moment there, Draco was caught in the absurdity, in the dreadfulness of it all –_Longbottoms simply do _not _flirt with Malfoys, no matter how currently good-looking they may be… And in any case, it should be the other way around!_- but then the full realisation of what that simple gesture conveyed sank in and the Slytherin wheels started turning inside his head. Draco nearly kicked himself for his momentary lapse in judgement. It wasn't a dreadful development at all. In fact, it was a most convenient little twist.

And Malfoys grabbed an opportunity whenever, wherever and however they might find it.

Smirking rather suggestively, Draco brushed blond locks from his eyes as he settled more comfortably on his chair with smooth, deliberate moves. "Something like that," he said cryptically, allowing his tone to drop a notch and his eyes to roam subtly over Neville's visible form behind the desk.

The reaction was instantaneous: Longbottom's mouth went slightly agape for a moment, which had Draco suppressing a sneer of pure satisfaction. His face broke into a huge grin, and his eyes shone with glee as he replied with a chuckle, "Yes, I can see you're something else… But then again, you always were."

"Glad you noticed," was Draco's teasing reply. To tell the truth, the blond wasn't sure if he should feel pleased or completely ill be the sight before him. _Who_ was this _wolf_ sitting in front of him and what had he done to Neville 'Gryffindork Extraordinaire' Longbottom? If Draco hadn't known that casting a very potent Anti-Morphing Spell on the wizard before him would have landed him in jail quicker than he could say 'Fizzing Wizzbies', he certainly would have taken his wand out ages ago... But then again, war and sudden emancipation could do strange things to people. Longbottom must be one of those extreme cases. He smiled charmingly. "Now, Neville, about that permit..."

"Oh, right! I completely forgot you were here on business!" Longbottom's grin turned sheepish, and it was all Draco could do not to roll his eyes. The young officer cleared his throat, affecting professionalism. "So, Mr. Malfoy, what kind of permit are we talking about?"

_Sweet Athena, finally! _"I want to visit my father in Azkaban Prison. There are a few matters I need to discuss with him," he replied casually, running a hand through his hair as he crossed his legs in a smart pose.

"Then you're in the right place!" Longbottom grinned. "Just let me go get some files in the back really quick," he said as he stood up and disappeared through a door on the far wall the blond hadn't noticed before.

"Well, that wasn't so hard," Draco muttered, scowling at the paper airplanes roaming about over his head and crashing against each other and into the walls. Gratefully, he'd be out of here soon; his headache was gaining momentum and dealing with Longbottom was only making it worse. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. Yes, 'soon' was not soon enough.

A chair complained with a loud squeak and Draco opened his eyes to find Longbottom looking at him from across the desk, a piece of parchment in his hands. Draco's lips turned immediately into a contented smirk –_perhaps he does deserve that promotion after all…- _but his confidence wavered when he noticed that the playful expression that had adorned Longbottom's face moments ago was gone.

"Draco, I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said cautiously, his face contrite. "Apparently, it's not… quite possible."

It was Draco's turn to blink. Frowning, he cleared his suddenly dry throat. "What do you mean, _not_ _quite possible_?" For as much as he tried, it still ended up coming out between gritted teeth. Longbottom winced and Draco was able to see the vestiges of his former self. It didn't help matters much.

"I mean… you can't. Visit your father. It's… forbidden."

Draco's amiable mask dropped altogether as he sat up abruptly in his chair. "_What_?"

"I said..."

"I heard what you said!" the blond snapped, questioning the sense behind the action as he felt his headche increase tenfold. He decided he didn't care. "Why the Hell can't I? He's been locked up in there for five years and I haven't seen him ever since! He's my father! Even if he _was_ a Death Eater, it's _my_ right to see him! It's not as if we're still at war! I demand to see him! I'll talk to whoever is in charge, I'll go to the bloody Wizengamot if I have to, but I _will see my father_!"

Longbottom waited patiently until the blond finished his tirade. When Draco at last stopped for air, nostrils flaring and eyes ablaze, he offered in an apologetic tone, "I understand that, Draco. Honestly, I do. But you see, it doesn't have anything to do with your father being a Death Eater…" he trailed off, apparently unable to look at Draco in the face now. "He… has abdicated his visitation privileges. He doesn't want to see anybody."He heldout the document for the other wizard's perusal.

Draco stared from Longbottom's face to the parchment and back again, all the wind gone from his sails. He realised this probably was what the word 'dumbstruck' meant. Clenching his jaw, he took the proffered document and skimmed quickly through it.

Below the usual official mumbo-jumbo, his father's signature glimmered in metallic green ink under the Malfoy Household Seal. Next to it, a red stamp declared the petition 'Processed and Filed'.

"When was this signed?" Draco heard himself ask, but it sounded from very far away. His eyes were fixed on his father's penned name.

"On January the 13th. 1997," Longbottom said. "That's soon after…"

"Hogwarts was closed, yes." Draco roamed one last time the rest of the parchment before he handed it back to Longbottom.

"And I guess this is definite?" he asked, his tone monochromatic.

Longbottom sighed, shaking his brown head. "Azkaban Prisoners have few privileges, specially convicted Death Eaters. Once they renounce to those privileges they cannot take them back, even if it's for their relatives' benefit. That's how the law stipulates it." He looked at the parchment held in his hands before he ventured a glance at the blond. "There's nothing I can do to help you. I'm sorry."

Draco had the sudden impulse to hex that diffident smile off of the other wizard's face in the most painful way imaginable. He settled for a wry sneer instead. "I see. Very well." He stood up regally, offering his hand to Longbottom, who took it after a moment's hesitation. "Thank you for your time, Neville. It was nice seeing you again," he said before moving towards the door.

"Wait, Draco!" The blond stopped and turned to face him. Longbottom waved his hands aimlessly. "I really _am_ sorry. If there were something I could do…"

"It's ok. I understand," Draco said firmly, face unreadable. "Good bye, Mr. Longbottom. Good luck with your promotion."

He opened the door and stepped out, not bothering to glance once at the puzzled wizard he'd left behind.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Draco crossed the main hallway of the Ministry of Magic with hard, long strides, his robes and hair billowing behind him, not knowing exactly which emotion was compelling his legs to move so fast, his blood to roar in his ears. He could practically hear his teeth grinding together, and he was sure his nails were branding purple crescents on his palms. He pushed past a group of wizards and witches waiting in a line; if he accidentally knocked over somebody, he didn't notice it nor he gave a damn.

He reached the glass doors of the entrance and banged them open with both hands, ignoring the startled looks directed at him by oncoming visitors. He trotted down the stairs leading to the square outside the building and moved to sit on one of the benches surrounding the large fountain in the middle; the one which used to be inside the Main Hall of the Ministry, the same one the Dark Lord had virtually destroyed during that skirmish in Fifth Year...

"Damn you, Lucius! Damn you to Hell!" Draco said between gritted teeth, holding his silver-blond head in his hands, his eyes tightly closed. He breathed in and out a few times, trying to regain his self-control, but finding it rather impossible. Of course his _Dear Father_ would shut the door on his face! Of course Lucius Malfoy would burn all the bridges between them! How could he have been so naïve to think that Lucius would help him when he had never been there for him in the first place, when the only thing Lucius had ever done was to abandon his mother and him? How could he have been so foolish to think that Lucius Laurent Malfoy would care for anybody else but himself? How could Draco have been so stupid to believe, after everything he and his mother had gone through, that he still had… a father?

In that moment, Draco knew he was alone. The last link to his past, to the life he had once had, was gone. To his surprise, it was a bitter realisation -or should he say, _confirmation_? Yes, he had Severus, his godfather, who Draco loved and he knew loved him back despite all their petty disagreements. But Severus was not his blood; nothing tied him to the older wizard other than a deep respect and admiration born of many years of acquaintance and shared adversity, and as close as he could be to the mercurial man, Draco knew Severus would never be more than what he already was: a friend, a confidant, a mentor. And even that Draco wondered how long he would have. Nothing in this life was for certain. Nothing, nothing at all.

The time for childish ideas and stupid fairy tales was over. Yesterday morning, he still had a dream, a last bit of hope, something he had safeguarded with all his might and which had been the only real thing he had had to look forward to in the future. Today, all he had left was a black hole in his memory and a bond positively driving him round the bend. Not to mention, of course, an unknown culprit to hunt down and destroy, and whom in all honesty he might never find. To top it all, the only person he'd thought could have helped him bring a chink of light into this mess was as good as dead. Or was it the other way around?

_You probably wish I was dead, don't you, Lucius? Your faggot of a son, your traitor of son? What a waste, isn't it, Father? You probably wish I was never born to carry your name…_

And, at the core of everything, Harry Potter.

It was as if he had unwillingly stepped into a parallel dimension, where everything was the opposite of what it should have been. In _his_ world, he was the sole sovereign of his life. He wasn't cursed with dark spells, nor he found himself in love with his childhood rival, nor was he compelled to do moronic things such as considering the possibility of becoming a Squib just so he would rid himself of an unbreakable bond that could very well destroy him, tied as he currently was to the whims and choices of another person. Because that was exactly what this entire situation came down to: Power. Taking matters into his own hands, even if it meant doing the unthinkable, or relinquishing what little control he still had to the one person he had taught himself to call his enemy and... pray for the best.

He had never been much of a believer.

The blond opened his eyes and stared, jaws clenched, beyond the gold fountain and past the iron fence surrounding the square to the street, where oblivious Muggles carried on with their lives, blinded to what was in front of them by magical spells and wards. He wondered how much alike he and those people really were. How truly powerless, hopeless, _pathetic_. He could summon socks out of thin air, blast concrete walls into dust, appear and disappear at will, and yet, he still was subjected to the games of Fate; even with all of his so-called magical power, he still couldn't stop death, or make a dark soul pure, or turn back the hands of Time. Just like them, he didn't have a clue. He could pretend all he wanted that he had control over the situation, but he knew the truth: He was desperate. Lost. Forced to walk upside down and figure out why things had been glued to the ceiling.

Yes. Somewhere along the line, his life had gone from 'Fucking Brilliant' to 'Brilliantly Fucked Up', and he didn't think it could get any worse...

"Hello, Malfoy."

_I _seriously _take that back..._

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TBC...

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_**Very Important Author Note: **First of all, an apology for taking so long to update this. I want to thank you all for your patience, for reading and believing in this story despite all the mishaps and terribly late updates. Your words have meant the world to this writer-wannabe, and it's with great regret that I inform you all that I've decided to put Ethereal Desire on hold for a while. As I said in my previous note, I'm in the process of moving to another country to study, so -as these past few months have proved- my life is too full and hectic right now to give this fic the attention it deserves at the moment. **This doesn't mean that I'm abandoning it! **I've spent too many sleepless hours and brain cells on it -not to mention my beautiful Beta Enchant's time as well- to do that. I just want to make sure that when I sit down to write, I'll be able to give to it my 100 percent, as I've tried to do so far. I hope you understand._

_Also, I wanted to clear one thing about ED's concept: In this story neither Draco nor Harry is Veela, Vampire, Draconian, Elf, Goblin, or whatever other magical creature in fandom. The bond between them doesn't make them 'mates', or at least not in the sense most Vampire/Veela fics portray; it just means they're 'magically in love', literally. (Hopefully, by the time this story is finished, that will make some sense to you all.)_

_Now, I didn't want to leave you without giving you a few glimpses of what's to come (What did you all think, that I would be _that _cruel?) just so you have something to look forward to in a few months. (Although, now that I think about it, maybe I _am _cruel... 0o)_

The Potions Master turned to send the most earnest of his glares to his Mentor, but of course, the man was infuriatingly immune to them all. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, a personification of Merlin himself, wearing a placid smile on his ancient face and moon-splattered, cerulean robes on his back. A plate full of baked goods hovered over his desk as he beckoned the younger man to join him. At first look, any person might thing this man had not a care in the world. Such person would be surprised.

Nevertheless, Severus couldn't honestly imagine this office without Albus Dumbledore. It was comforting to come in here and always find the same welcoming image. The old coot was a sly, cunning, manipulative bastard, but he was so with such an honest heart that one could only forgive him for his flaws... Of course, the Potions Master would sooner ingest cyanide than confess that out loud.

"Drop the courtesies, Albus. You know very well why I'm here," he barked as he paced a small circuit in front of Albus' desk. The older wizard made a noncommittal sound as he picked his way through the cookies.

"I must admit, Severus, your call was rather unexpected," Dumbledore said lightly, blue eyes fixed on his former Professor. "What's happened to get you in such a tizzy?"

The dark-haired man stopped abruptly on his tracks, his black gaze narrowed. "Your goddamned Golden Boy happened, that's what," he hissed through his crooked teeth, ignoring the reproving frown that appeared on his Mentor's face.

Draco's eyes followed the other wizard's movements with some sort of wicked fascination. It was incredibly easy to read Harry Potter; the man wore his heart on his sleeve all the time. Draco could see the irritation, and yes, the frustration in the tight lines of his jaw. But there was also huge tension there, anxiety, etched on the rigid, broad shoulders. Draco knew that the raven-haired man had to be feeling the same things he was feeling right then, even if Harry didn't know what they truly meant… Or _did_ he? Would Harry Potter be oblivious to what was so obviously happening between them?

Had he found out about the bond?

Harry let out another sigh, shaking Draco from his alarming thoughts. When he looked up, Harry was staring at him, his green eyes shining like polished emeralds in their intensity, and for a moment, Draco forgot how to breathe. Then Harry spoke, his voice firm and yet somewhat restless, "We are not enemies anymore, Draco. Hell! We never were, not really! Why can't you see that?"

_So, with that, I say 'Farewell', my lovelies. But just for a short while._

_Take care,_

_Etherea._


End file.
